Into the Starless Night
by Sheila51
Summary: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", which should be read first. Set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC.
1. Prologue

**Into the Starless Night**

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Synopsis: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC

A/N: Welcome to the second part of Anária's story! If you have not read "Daughter of Númenor" I suggest you do so, this story will not contain any of the back story provided in it.

Thank you for reading this story, and please leave me a review!

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all rights. Please don't take my story down or anything nasty!

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Prologue: The Twilight of the Elves

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It was before dawn, the pale grey sky still scattered with bright stars, to the east the morning star twinkled brightly. Haldir had risen and washed, his wound was rebound by a silent Anária whose eyes told him that she had been awake most of the night. He requested she take him outside, into the fresh air. As they went through the hall Legolas, the Prince of Mirkwood turned to watch them go, his eyes inscrutable as he surveyed their progress, the way that she held him up with an arm around his waist.

She was small against his side, her arms however were strong and she helped his steps without trouble. He wondered if she took as much comfort from his closeness as he took from her ministrations. The thought caused him the slightest of smiles as they went out of the hall. Without a pause she helped him mount the steps to the height of the wall. The tang of iron and carrion was still upon the air but it was sweeter to him than the scent within the castle. The sky was the deep blue grey of the sky an hour before dawn, beside him her slim form was mantled in silver and red. While she slept one of his wardens had cleaned her armour and robes, like all Elven made garments they did not remained soiled for long, and dried swiftly. Her dark hair she had bound back in the same braid he had worn to the battle and it made him smile. He raised a hand to brush against her dark braid.

Startled she looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise then she lowered her face, staying very still as he ran his fingers through the dark unbound hair against the nape of her neck, gently he pulled her closer, inhaling the sweet scent of her clean hair. It seemed to him she still smelt of long grass and small flowers. He became aware that her slim shoulders were shaking slightly

"Melethril*, look at me." She obeyed, raising her proud head up to meet his eyes, her grey eyes sparkled with tears. None had yet fallen yet their sorrow was present and it almost broke his own calm. She was going, she was leaving him behind. She was walking into the darkness rising in the east while he returned to the west, to the tall trees and protection of the Lady.

"Do not weep." He said softly, wishing he could wipe all signs of sorrow from her. She shook her head a little and then stepped closer to him, burying her face against his neck, her slim arms winding the way around his neck. Her breaths, almost little sobs were breather against his collar. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, using the other to stroke her dark head. He felt a sort of anger pierce his sorrow, he had lived long ages of the world and like a child he now resented that time wasted before this day. He wished in vain that he had gone to Rivendell in recent years and seen his love there, or that he might have met her sooner, or that somehow he could find more time. She pulled back from him, her back arching so she could look up at him. She was frowning a little and he realised that he was crushing her to him, his arms attempting to keep from losing her. He managed a little smile down at her, and he knew she understood.

She was more Elven than he could ever have guessed when he first saw her, for in the way she smiled at him in return and the hand that brushed against his cheek he felt her understanding. She too wished for those precious extra hours.

But even now the eastern sky began to grow a little lighter and the mist below seemed to be thinning. And if that did not tell him dawn was approaching the sound of men moving around the castle and voices calling to one another did. Sooner than he would like he would have to step back and release her, for nothing that they were doing was entirely appropriate.

For she had not been his only visitor. Aragorn had come to speak with him. Their were customs amongst the Dúnedain; Haldir would have to ask her parents permission to court her formally, and then there would be a proper betrothal. Softly he told Aragorn they were already betrothed in the Elvish fashion. Aragorn had nodded.

"_I assure you friend, I can think of no reason why any parent would be distressed to have you as a suitor. But you must understand. To her family and my people she is precious." Aragorn's eyes became distant as he gazed at the wall above Haldir's head. "When I took her from her family it almost destroyed her mother, she was ill for a month with grief. And when Anária and her brother both were on patrol the fear of losing both their children aged her parents terribly…" Aragorn met Haldir's eyes. "They are more than two decades my junior but their hair is streaked with grey and their shoulders bent as though beneath a great burden…" Haldir did not need to speak. He knew the fears that lay upon those whose loved one's went willingly into peril, he felt it even now as Aragorn told him his beloved must go south._

"_But hearken to this Haldir. Before she goes south she wishes to speak with you. As her kinsman I give you my permission to act as your heart desires and court her in those few hours you have left together for I fear you will not meet again ere this war ends."_

She was shifting in his embrace, he looked down at her, she was eyeing him in an inquisitive, nervous way. He knew what it was she hoped to dare as he saw how her eyes flickered from his lips to his eyes and it made him feel giddy. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against the soft skin of her cheek, he felt her lips upon his own cheek and smiling once more he turned his face and gently kissed her lips in the chestiest and briefest of kisses. When he pulled back her eyes were bright and sparkling. He took a full step away as he heard voices below at the gate remarking on something about a horse. Then came another voice, it was Legolas' and in it Haldir heard the slightest of warnings as the Elf prince spoke loudly his friend and Captain's name.

"Aragorn! Did you sleep well friend?" Haldir smiled and turned back to regard Anária she was smiling in an abashed sort of way, blushing, with sparkling eyes as she pressed her recently kissed lips together. As Aragorn and Legolas talked she fidgeted and looked away from him.

"Haldir – when you return to Lórien will you visit my brother?" She asked softly. "I know you will not be able to send me word of how he fares but it would ease my heart if you might look in on him occasionally."

"Of course." He replied raising an eyebrow. "It would be my duty anyway, but as you have asked I will do it as often as I can." She smiled at him, finally meeting his eyes again.

"Thank you." She stepped a little closer. "Haldir…" she was biting her lip, as though unsure how to continue. He remained quiet to allow her to continue, after a long moment as they sounds of the company gathering below grew she remained quiet.

"Haldir, I will come back. This path, it is into the darkness but I believe that the dawn will come." He looked over at her; silently he nodded, acknowledging her words. After a long moment she continued. "But it may be that the dawn will not come for me." He took an involuntary step towards her, reaching out a hand to grab hers in his own.

"Do not-"

"No Haldir! Let me say this!" she interrupted him. "If that happens do not linger as your kin go west, do not fall into the darkness and doubt that will come, as the twilight of the Elves turns to night." He stayed still and silent. "Will you do that? Will you go?" he looked away briefly before meeting her eyes again, the sky was silvering, she would need to leave soon.

"Anária. You fear my staying but you do not know what you ask when you beg me to leave this land. I am not of the exiles, I never went into Valinor." He shivered at thought of the blessed realm and the terrible catastrophes that had befallen those who had returned over the sea.

"I was born in Doriath, in this Middle Earth, and I have lived hundreds of lifetimes of men in this world, under these trees and never have I truly heard the call of the sea." He looked deeply into her eyes. "I may not ever have left were we never to have met, death is not the end for me, I will never truly die. And whether I linger here or go across the sea I would still fade if you are lost to me now." She shivered, her face briefly showing the depth of grief his words took away her self-control. "You must go now love, but do not think of the darkness ahead of us, think of how the sun will shine on the day you are returned to me." She smiled, a sad little smile that trembled upon her lips. He pulled her close, pressing his lips to her ear.

"Remember my love, twilight will pass and after the stormy night a new dawn will come and as the flowers bloom the darkness shall fade. It has ever been so." She nodded against his neck.

"I know… But I am… I'm afraid Haldir." He grasped her closer for a moment, wishing he could take her out of harm's way and show her peace and rest.

"Everyone is afraid Anária, but you will overcome your fear as you have done before, and do what you must. Your duty is with your people, as mine is with mine." She nodded once more and when he pulled back her momentary sadness had passed.

"Go now, and may Elbereth bless you and guide you." She smiled as he lifted each of her slim, pale hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to each palm.

"And may she watch over you My Lord, on your journey." He smiled.

"Namarie." He said softly, sensing the presence who had mounted the stairs behind him. He let her pass him before he turned around, Aragorn, his careworn face stern and troubled as he regarded Haldir for a long moment, before finally nodding to the Elven Lord in farewell…

Haldir remained there, watching his beloved disappear until the sun beat down upon him, its early spring warmth seeming to him to reflect the words of Anária, spring was indeed coming. He closed his eyes, allowing the gentle breeze to blow over him as Anária travelled further and further away. Finally he turned away from where she had disappeared into the distant horizon.

He had his own journey to undertake…

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~Please Review~


	2. Chapter 1: The Dúnedain of Arnor

**Into the Starless Night**

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Synopsis: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC

A/N: First of all let me apologise for being gone so long, the 'real world' sadly interrupted things. But I'm back on track!

This is the second part of Anária's story so If you have not read "Daughter of Númenor" I suggest you do so, this story will not contain any of the back story required to understand a lot of what is going on.

Thank you for reading this story, and please leave me a review!

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all rights. Please don't take my story down or anything nasty!

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_Chapter 1: The Dúnedain of Arnor_

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As the party came down towards the Fords of Isen Anária felt a tugging at her senses. To the north-west the Gap of Rohan loomed, she could see the angle of the pass and felt a call in her heart, just beyond it was the lands she had grown up in, and with a short journey, her home. Rivendell and the House of Elrond, with Elves and occasionally her own kin. As she looked west at the Gap for a moment she thought she saw a movement at the height of the pass, as though a company moved through the gap. She turned in her seat, behind her Legolas the Elf sat his horse beside her kinsman, Aragorn, and Eomer, the Lord she had met in the hall the night before.

Legolas met her eyes, he had been smiling, but seeing her frown he looked at her askance, she flicked a finger towards the gap, a silent signal to look towards that place. He turned his eyes in the direction, he frowned. He spoke quietly to Aragorn and then flicked his reins, encouraging his horse to pull out of line and come towards her.

"Did you see something?" she asked. He shook his head.

"I saw dust, there may have been travellers in the Gap but if there were they have already passed beyond my sight, into the forest on this side or over the pass." He was quiet and respectful, his manner and accent reminding her with a pang of Haldir. Although Haldir was many centuries older than his Woodland kinsman they shared a calmness and clarity of speech that was almost lazy in its pattern. She realised she had not responded to his words, she smiled apologetically.

"Thank you, I thought I saw something but I have not the eyes of Elfkind." He smiled and inclined his head.

"Yet there are few humans who would have seen anything at that distance." It was her turn to acknowledge his compliment. But her smile was rueful.

"I thank you, but I fear I must tell you I believe I looked at the only moment I could have seen anything and that which prompted me to look at the gap was not my eyesight but another sense." He raised an eyebrow, he had seen the night before that her fighting had a strange style to it; at times he thought she moved – as Aragorn sometimes seemed to do – before her opponent acted. It was not only skill that allowed them to move like that, preternatural senses due, he believed, to their kinship with Elves as all his kind had senses that went beyond what many humans had. He had never really known humans at war before the Rohirrim, and while he respected their prowess he saw there was a difference between them and the children of Númenor.

"If it would be of assistance I can keep an eye on our flank?" he asked. She smiled and nodded to him. With a returning nod he returned to Aragorn's side where they had another soft conversation, she ignored them, riding close behind Gandalf and Théoden, King of Rohan.

Several times he had turned his head to look at her, a contemplative look upon his face, each time she smiled politely and then looked away. She was unsure what bothered him so. Whatever it was she had little time to think on it. Something at the edge of her mind was bothering her, it was like a bee trapped within a small room by a pane of glass, buzzing and flying this way and that. She could feel a strange tugging in her heart. There was somewhere else she should be.

Her eyes were drawn again and again towards the gap of Rohan, to where she had seen that brief hint of movement. She felt she had to be somewhere else, and that somewhere was not before her on the path to Isen. The fords were already before them, soon they would cross them.

As the water washed around their horses hooves Anária rubbed the neck of her mount. The horse was tense, she could feel Anária's restlessness. As they went up the other bank she pulled Brasnora to one side of the path, turning in her seat to find her Captain's eyes. Aragorn looked older and more careworn in the daylight than she had seen him in her life. Like her parents he was beginning to show his age before a Dúnedain should. He was aged by the times he lived in she knew, and by the great burden he felt upon his shoulders. He moved his own horse to join her. Gandalf glanced at them briefly but to her surprise the wizard made no move to speak with them.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, his grey eyes scanning the wooded valley and mountain sides that led from the gap of Rohan.

"Something or someone if coming east, I think I should go and see who or what comes this way." Behind him Eomer had moved towards them.

"You should not go alone." He said, with his deep, heavy voice.

Aragorn turned his head to look at Eomer and then returned his gaze to the dark pines. She watched the play of thoughts upon his face. He too felt something to the west, she wondered if his thoughts, like hers, were turning to Imladris, to the Last Homely House and their friends and loved ones. His grey eyes met hers.

"You should go if you feel you must, but Eomer is also right, you should not go alone." She acknowledged this. Eomer looked towards his king and then motioned to two other members of his household, men he had known since childhood. He quietly ordered them to guard her passage as though she were his sister, while Aragorn and Legolas exchanged words with her.

"You go carefully now lass." Gimli growled, the closest Eomer had heard to a gentle tone in his voice, although in the brief time he had seen Eowyn she had told him the dwarf had been a fine and amusing companion on the road from Edoras.

Anária nodded to them, a deeper nod – almost a bow – to her kinsmen and then she turned her horse to the west and spurred him to a trot, the two green cloaked rohirrim urged their mounts to join her and three quickly disappeared into the trail that led to the Gap of Rohan.

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Far away to the west Arwen stood looking down to the gathered Elves in the courtyard below. They were heading to the West, to pass away forever to Valinor. And she was going with them. She felt tears come anew to her cheeks. Falling in silence. It seemed such a short time ago she had sworn to wait here in Middle Earth for all her life. For love she sworn. And now for love she was leaving. The love of others. The love of Aragorn who had told her to leave him, for the love of her Ada who seemed so hurt by her promise to Aragorn.

She wondered what her brothers would say. But they were not here, they had gone East. To search for Aragorn as their grandmother bade them. Galadriel had not sent her any word though. Should she pass away or stay? But Galadriel had not sent a word of advice or comfort for Arwen. Behind her she heard her father's soft steps.

"Arwen. They are waiting." He said softly. His deep voice resonant and warm. But she could hear the slightest note of doubt. She wondered if he doubted whther she would truly leave.

"Ada…" she could not even speak the words. She looked below again, but rather than the grey clad elves she saw something else, a day in spring when the sun had poured down from above. Aragorn, speaking softly, too softly for her to hear to his slim cousin. Arwen watched the girl take his instructions with a serious face, but then the face looked up, she caught Arwen's eye and she smiled. And Arwen returned the smile. She was so young, too young to go to war, to young to leave Rivendell. She was like a small sister to Arwen as she had spent much time with the young human. It had been Arwen who had cut her hair short when Anária had wanted her too, and it had been Arwen the young woman had spoken to about the disagreements she had with her parents about her choice of life. Arwen sighed and as she did the vision faded away.

"Ada where is Anária? Are she and her brother safe?" She turned to look at him, he seemed surprised by the question and raised a brow.

"Galadriel cares for Anádor, he was wounded. And Anária left Lothlórien with Haldir's company to aid the Kingdom of Rohan ten days ago." He said quietly. She nodded.

"It seems a great sadness to me that one so young goes into the very jaws of death while I flee." She looked back at him, his face was twisted with pain.

"It is." He said softly. "And it is I who sent her thus, and beg you to leave." Arwen raised a brow She had known that Aragorn had not been that pleased to send Anária east, but he had not said why he must do so. She had not suspected it was her father who had desired her to go.

"Why ada? Why did you send her?" she asked her thoughts clouded with doubt, she did not understand how he could think only of sending her away while he sent others to war. Elladan and Elrohir he could not have stopped. Aragorn was their great friend they would pass into Mordor itself if he asked them, and it had been Galadriel who had sent the request. Their mother's mother, more precious to them now when their mother was so far away. But Anária…

That feeling of right in her request, that sense of good to come from her passage to the east had faded with his hopes many many months before. Arwen waited her eyes on him, questioning, wondering. Her gentle remonstrance cut anew his reasons for all that he had done, and all that he was doing. The right of it seemed to him now wrong, the wisdom of his years but nothing in the oncoming of the shadow.

"I sent her… Because I had hope, hope that she might become who she should have, hope that Aragorn would take up the burden of his birth. Those hopes are all but crumbled into dust." Arwen looked away, below all was in readiness. But there were no songs, no calls, no laughter echoed through her home of many years. Only a gentle sighing, like leaves in autumn as they brush against each other. It was a gentle, forlorn sound. They were leaving the Last Homely House, no joy did they feel in it. But amongst that sighing she heard two words.

"All but?" She turned to look at him. "Then there is still hope? For Aragorn, for Anária? For Me?"

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Anária reined in her horse, barely even aware of her two guards exchanging a glance. She peered ahead, the trail curved to the right, the perfect sight for an ambush. The trail had been wide but winding so far, but now a hundred metres ahead it narrowed, on one side it fell away steeply into a copse of pine, on the other the mountain thistle grew thick and dark. She fingered the hilt of her sword.

'_Where now are the Dúnedain?_' She jumped in her saddle as a voice seemed to whisper in her ear, beneath her Brasnora snorted, prancing a little to the side. Before her on the road she saw a silver bowl, grey horseman rode across it. She had seen that somewhere before. Galadriel! It had been her voice whispering in her ear. And Galadriel's mirror, in that maelstrom of images had been a company of grey riders, dark and grim. Her kinsman of the north, riding through a wooded forest. She reached up to pull back her red hood.

"Is everything alright m'lady?" asked one of the Rohirrim. She turned to look at him.

"Where now are the Dúnedain?" she asked him he looked confused, exchanging a glance with his fellow. Turning her eyes back to the trail ahead, she perceived the quiet steps of men, scouting the path, they like she, had paused at the corner, weary of unknown territory. She called to them.

"Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth,  
And the Grey Company ride from the North."

"Hail Dúnedain! Hail my Kinsmen! I am Anária Dúnedain! Come forth I say!" two men came slowly around the bend. They grey hoods still up as they approached her.

"Hail Dúnedain!" called one of them. "We had news that we might meet with kin here, but it was not you we expected to meet Anária, daughter of Anáthor." Said one of the men, his hood still up. The two men of Rohan moved silently to stand closer to her, sensing rightly the wild danger of those who approached.

"Fear not, good sons of Rohan. I am in no danger." She said quietly to them. She gently touched Brasnora's white neck and the mare stepped daintily forwards. Anária dismounted.

"My friends." She bowed to the two men. "Shall you not give me your names and show your faces?" the two exchanged a glance.

"Our company is not far behind, there is one amongst them who knows you. I have never met you in adulthood, I had not been to the Last Homely House in ten-year. Forgive us, but caution is not an idle thing in such times as these." She inclined her head.

Silently they stood, the waiting as the sounds of the approaching company grew till even the Rohirrim heard it. Unlike her they did not dismount, but staid in their saddles. Weary of the dark cloaked men who stood on the path watching her.

She knew what made them pause, not only the treachery of Saruman which they knew might be set against them in any number of guises – including a false friend. But her appearance was as unlike the Anária who had come east. She had been a grey eyed child, never far from Rivendell unless to visit her family, and that had only happened twice. Trained well it was true, but untested in true battle. Simple of dress and in most ways all but faded into the background amongst the Elves of Rivendell. But now with her red cloak and robes, the fine armour of Lórien and Brasnora she was as striking as she believed the Lady had wished her to be.

Presently the leading riders came around the bend, one was built tall and strong, and even at noon had up his hood, just behind came two whose hoods were down, immediately she saw the black haired sons of Elrond, their faces bright and fair under the sun.

It was they who first called her name, and as the company drew close they dismounted, rushing to greet her with hugs and exclamations of surprise. As Elladan returned her feet to the ground after for the second time pulling her off her feet to whirl her around like a child she found herself face to face with her kinsman, Halbarad. His grim face broke briefly into a smile, he reached out a hand, almost as though he would ruffle her hair as he would a hound's, but thought better of it, instead he gently cupped her chin.

"I think you have grown, little one." He said gruffly.

"And I think you are older, old one." She responded to his banter. The brothers laughed gaily, Elrohir in particular.

"And he has grown grumpier as our trip went on!" he told her. Conspiratorially Elladan stepped close to whisper in her ear.

"The time is soon approaching when good Halbarad will no longer venture away from his cosy bed and warm fire!"

She smiled, the gruff ranger turned away from the brothers, as though their childish play was beneath him.

"Mmmm." Agreed Elladan with his brother. "And some in this company might wish that day were closer had they heard his snoring." The grey Dúnedain chuckled at the Elven Princes, this brief moment of happiness the only one they had known on their journey. Even Halbarad gave a smile, though not so their sharp eyes could see.

"Anária, where are you going? Home to Rivendell?" he asked gently, switching to the Elvish tongue. She shook her head.

"I have come to lead you to Aragorn." She said, but in Westron, glancing back at her guards. "I was with him but a few hours ago, if we hurry we may meet him at fords of Isen come sunset." Halbarad looked around at the company, many of whom were returning to the saddle even ash spoke, including the two scouts.

"Then you had best lead us on, little one, lead us to our Lord."

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~Please Review~


	3. 2: A Celebration and a Confrontation

**Into the Starless Night**

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Synopsis: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC

A/N: I would like to thank everyone for their patience - sadly my 'real life' became a little intense there for a while and I couldn't edit this chapter and add the bits I needed to add. I am sure many of you will be happy I managed to get some Haldir into this chapter and I will try to do that in every chapter. But as Peter Jackson and company will tell you its no easy thing telling a love stroy when your protagonists are hundreds of miles apart! But I'll do my best!

Thank you for reading this story, and as always please leave me a review, I try to respond to most reviews, even if they are one liners saying 'your story like, totally sucks!'... Although I'm hoping I won't have to reply to one like that obviously...

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all rights. Please don't take my story down or sue me!

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Chapter 2: A Celebration and a Confrontation

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"- with little, hairy women!" Gimli guffawed. Eomer raised an eyebrow, wondering whether or not to laugh. He had never seen so odd a sight as the slim, elegant elf infine silver tunic delicately raising each glass to his lips, and the stocky dwarf with foam in his beard and dribbles of ale dripping from it. He leaned against the beer barrels as the elf raised yet another tankard to his lips and the dwarf gave a loud belch.

Eomer felt a figure step to his side, he looked down at dark hair held back in a complicated braid, her dark green gown a contrast to the company she had returned with from the Gap. Even now that company sat apart from the Rohirrim and their celebration, like Aragorn, their leader, there was a gravity to their countenance, and even Anária, young as she was, shared a certain presence with these hard men of the wilderness. Amongst them the sons of Elrond, legendary mystic known even to the people of Rohan, sat like gentle flowers amongst thorns, their faces, like that of Legolas the Elf, had a radiant beauty, their eyes though laughed more than his. And Anária it had seemed to him was at one with their gentle humour, riding at her side as they had during the journey south to Edoras.

She looked up at him and smiled as she observed the Elf Legolas and Dwarf Gimli, each was still lifting pints to their lips, the dwarf with great grunting and slurping, the elf as though he were drinking the finest wine at his father's table.

"I'll bet on the dwarf." She said very softly, so only h could hear. He raised a brow at her smiling face. But bowed his acknowledgement of her bet. At that moment Gimli gave a large burp. Legolas however was powering on, raising yet another tankard elegantly to his lips and beginning and tilting his head back until the tankard was drained. As he set it down the Elflord frowned, looking down at his fingers.

"I feel something..." Eomer raised a brow, Legolas' words were not slurred but rather seemed distant, misty, his voice no longer deep or resonant. He was holding out his hand, but his movements were unlike any drunk Eomer had ever seen, they had lost neither co-ordination nor elegance for all the many pints he had consumed!

"A slight tingle in my fingers... I think its affecting me!" he looked concerned, his brow furrowing slightly. Eomer blinked and shook his head slightly, bemused and confused by the sight before him.

"What did I say? Can't hold his liquor!" the dwarf slurred and the words were punctuated by yet another fierce belch. Eomer looked to his right to see a pair of sparkling grey eyes turned towards him, it the first time he had seen her grin. He shook his head, he had to smile in return. They both looked back towards the contestants, the dwarf was beginning to sway slightly, he drank another tankard, but his pace seemed at last slowing. Anária reached out a hand and briefly touched his arm, nodding towards the dwarf.

Eomer watched as the dwarf's eyes crossed and he keeled over with a loud thump. Legolas looked at him, raised a brow and looking back to Eomer said in his soft voice, "Game over!" Anária let out a soft chuckle.

"Indeed it is my lord, and may I say well played." The elflord bowed.

"Thank you my lady, your words are as sweet as you are strong." There was a moment of silence as they looked at the elf, who still seemed hazy, his voice misty and distant.

"I... thank you your highness." The elflord bowed. And on steady but light feet the Prince of Mirkwood made his unsteady way through the throng, he paused to glance at Merry and Pippin's dance and then continued on his way, the lords of Imladris smiled their greetings and he smiled, as though the whole world was bathed in light, and garlanded with flowers, his feet all but dancing. The humans left behind laughed amongst themselves.

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As the two hobbits drank their ale cups dry the only serious conversation in the room had paused, as Gandalf delved the depths of his heart for an answer to Aragorn's question.

"He is alive. Yes he is alive." Gandalf smiled, his heart warming once more, as it had only once in recent days. And that was at the sight of two children of Iluvitar experiencing the most precious gift that had been granted to mortal men or Elves or dwarves; love. Aragorn however did not share that feeling of happiness at what Gandalf saw as a blessing. He was all too aware of the great pain that came with the joy of love, at that moment Anária was laughing standing amidst the golden men of Rohann she was as dark and lovely as she had ever been, her face was no longer a child's, her features growing to maturity, her eyes bright with possibility. Her laughter, ringing out from something the lord Eomer had said caused more than one head to turn, it was, Gandlaf thought, the sweet laughter of Imladris brought out amidst the world. She wore the dark green dress of Lorien, its adornments simple but more elegant than any garment any lady of Rohan present wore.

Aragorn's thoughts were also on her, he was thinking of how bright her eyes were when she laughed, and he saw how youthful she still was in spite of all that she had seen and done. He had been the same age when he had first seen Arwen, in fact he had been a little younger.

Yet to him this engagement in a time of such hideous peril was somehow less right, to him, than that gentle meeting in Rivendell.

"She loves him with all her heart, mortal though it may be." Aragorn turned his head to look at Gandalf, his face still troubled. "And I must tell you, Aragorn, that this is not such a terrible fate. It is better to know the sweetness of a beautiful summer before the winter comes than to never experience it at all." Aragorn nodded silently, grimly acknowledging his mentor's words, for in his heart he knew them to be true.

"And yet such pain will it bring them, as it always does between mortal and Elf-kind." He said softly.

"She is not Arwen, and Arwen is not Luthien. Just as Haldir is not you, and you are not Beren. Haldir is no crownless king or wanderer, he is a High Lord of the Sindarin, distant kin of you through the blood of Luthien, if the day comes when Haldir presents his case to her father or guardian there can be cause for delay." Aragorn twitched, unsettled by the reminder of the condition laid upon his own courtship by Elrond. No, there could be no such decision from him as her Chieftain, and if she asked him he would speak on her and Haldirs' behalf to her parents. Few were the mortal men who could ever match with Haldir in any way, and few indeed would be the fathers who did not care for such a lord for their daughter.

"But that day is long off, for now we must decide what is to be done in the present." Said Aragorn, turning to Gandalf.

"But not tonight – tonight is a celebration!" and the Wizard grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

* * *

Haldir shifted beneath his cloak, it was their first night from Helm's Deep and he felt restless. He should be weary, the horses of Rohan were steady beasts and he had ridden much of the day, he was weary to the bone with pain and tiredness, he should have been in deep reverie as most of his company was, but he could not rest easy. His eyes searched the dark night sky, something made him uneasy in the way the seemed to be hiding their bright light. It made him feel the tight point between his shoulders, like he was in the middle of a battle – yet he could see no enemy to strike.

He wondered if someone else was looking up at the same veiled sky and thinking of him. He sat up. That was worse than the oppressiveness of the sky. Somewhere south she was, he was not sure where, he knew he could not go to her. But still he ached to rush towards her. His people were in danger, everything in his soul should wish to return home, to his brothers, to his Lord and Lady, to the place he had called home for so long... But he knew he would never more rest easy underneath the Mallorn. He had heard tell of the those who dreamed of the sea, and he felt himself one of they. Only the siren that called to him was not the sea, but a small dark tressed ranger from the north, strong of heart and mind, resolute of courage and brave beyond any call for her to be. And gentle, kind, thoughtful. And very young. It was this strange combination perhaps that made him think of her as he did.

Strength and fragility in equal measure. Single minded of purpose, and yet not without doubt and insecurity. He looked back to the sky. Shivering, not from cold but from the darkness that stalked the night winds beyond his eyes. He murmured a prayer to the Valar, he beseeched them it not be his lady whom the darkness stalked on the evening winds. He knelt his sword across his thighs, head arched back, fair hair blowing in the gentle night wind and thought of his lady love.

* * *

Anária sat beneath the stars, gazing at their twinkling light, thinking of another who might, at that moment be looking up at the stars in the cool hours before dawn. Tonight the fire of the stars seemed dimmed somehow, as though a shadow had fallen across them. Below her the city was all but silent, the horses did not stir, nor any voice of man call to another as the revellers had all long since retired to rest.

Suddenly a baby somewhere raised its voice in a thin wail, but even that was soon shushed. Anária felt uneasy with the silence. The party of the evening before should still surely be going somewhere. She had never known a gathering to disperse so rapidly.

Just after the moon had waned almost everyone had dispersed, as though they felt the coming of something dark, the presence that the stars were hiding from. Behind her she heard something moved, perhaps she heard the barest whisper of a noise, or perhaps it was some other sense that alerted her to the presence behind her. She turned her head with a start, rising to her feet, the blade she had cradled in her lap pointing at the intruder. The Prince of Mirkwood looked unperturbed by her reaction and she nodded to him briefly as she lowered her sword.

Without a word she returned to her seated vigil, this time she let her long legs dangle over the side of the stone porch and the sword she slipped into the sheath that had sat next to her. Quietly the Elf Prince stepped to her side, but nearer the house, he was looking out over the valley as well, his eyes drawn upwards.

"That stars are quiet." He said softly in his own tongue.

"And so is the land." She replied as softly in the same tongue, though Legolas noted her words had a strange lilt, her Sindarin was alike to his ears to that spoken in Lothlórien, which some said was the oldest and purest form of that ancient tongue now spoken in the world of men. He wondered briefly why that was, had she not been raised in the house of Elrond. He cast the thought aside as she looked away at the city below.

"The world is in shadow tonight, and evil is abroad." She added, her voice low and sweet. He looked down at her, his eyes troubled. She did not look into his eyes but turned her head north, far away, to Isenguard. They had hurried without stopping when she had pleaded with Gandalf that she did not wish to stay at the fords much longer. A decision some, particularly some of the smaller members of the company, had not been pleased with. In spite of the comforting presence of the company of Dúnedain, their grey cloaks and hard faces, and the sons of Elrond, the men she had known from childhood and she in whom she trusted completely, she felt a need to move, to be gone from the dirtied lands stained by Saruman.

But tonight she feared that perhaps their lingering here at the Golden Hall had also been a mistake, something was following them, seeking them here and there. She could feel it.

"You feel it, don't you?" he asked quietly. She looked up at him, wondering if he had almost sensed her thought. His blue eyes were both troubled and a little afraid. She nodded, turning her eyes back to the horizon.

"It is the thought of the enemy that is abroad and stills the men and beasts, and falls across the world like a heavy blanket." She said quietly, without looking up she knew he agreed with her. She stood.

"If you will stay here and watch now Legolas, I would sleep a little. I have been here watching and waiting for since the moon took to her heavenly bed, but his thought has not turned this way yet." He nodded, seeing the weariness and sorrow in her face.

"Perhaps it may not turn towards us." She smiled a little at the hope in his words, a gentle sort of smile which he returned.

"Perhaps not." She turned and moved away, stalking quietly through the pillars of the hall. She paused as she heard a door open. It was Aragorn. Quietly she watched him go about his business, stoking the fire and fiddling with his pipe.

Then he looked towards the Lady Eowyn and Anária felt strangely that she was intruding on something that should be private as her kinsman adjusted the blankets about the Lady of Rohan. Anária did not stir nor breathe as a terrible thought entered her mind. From the moment she had been brought to Rivendell she had seen the Lord Aragorn with his Lady Arwen, and both had been kind and thoughtful to her, almost as parents, just as Gandalf and Elrond had been distant uncles or grandfathers, and the sons of Elrond had been kindly brothers who taught her to sing and ride.

The idea that perhaps Arwen might not be always at Aragorn's side was disquieting, as though one of the bulwarks of her life had been discovered to be without foundation. She dared to love Haldir in part because she had been shown as a child that love between humans and Elves was no evil or burden, but a beautiful precious thing. But now she wondered if Aragorn's reticence over her closeness to Haldir had some more personal meaning, rather than concern for her.

"What time is it?" the lady asked sleepily.

"Not yet dawn." Aragorn's words were very soft. As he made to move away she saw Eowyn reach out to grip his hand.

"I dreamed I saw a great wave climbing over green lands and above the hills. I stood upon the brink. It was utterly dark in the abyss before my feet. A light shone behind me but I could not turn…" He knelt down beside her. Anária could not see his face but she could see Eowyn's, and she was clearly distressed. "I could only stand there, waiting." Anária stayed quiet and still in the shadows of the Golden Hall as Aragorn spoke softly to the Lady upon her couch.

"Night changes many thoughts… Sleep Eowyn, sleep." As he moved away his eyes flicked over her, standing silent and all but invisible even to his eyes in her grey Elven cloak and dark green dress. He nodded but continued on his way outside, there she knew he would smoke his pipe and sit, lost in many dark thoughts until the sun stained the sky with gold.

She moved along behind the columns towards her room, passing past the hall where the members of the fellowship were resting. As she was passing the door she heard a low urgent voice.

"Pippin! No!" She felt a darkness pass over her, like black wings across the stars, so hideous it made the hair stand up on her skin and shivers run down her spine. "Pippin!" She was suddenly spurred into action, shoving open the door she rushed into the room, what she saw almost stopped her again.

The Hobbit Pippin was twisting on the ground, in his hands a burning orb filled the room with a heat and heaviness that infected the very air itself.

"Help him!" the other hobbit cried, Anária ran forwards, but what she could do she did not know, and then she reached out, gripping the orb in her hands and the fire within reached out his fiery claws to grip her…

* * *

_The world was grey and black, it shivered around her, filled with malice. Her mind was filled with black knives, fingers rifling through her thoughts searching fro something. _

_"Who are you?" She saw again in her mind herself upon the wall at Helm's Deep, her white sword shining in the darkness, but watching her in the dark sky was a great eye of fire. She tried to wrench her mind away from his grasp, pulling her eyes from that great eye. But he hurt her, driving thousands of knives through her mind, cutting open every thought he could and peeling away at her secrets. _

_She fled, to a white tower shimmering in the sunlight, suddenly it turned black and crumbled, surrounded by a ring of fire that burnt a tree long dead._

_She pulled away again, fleeing the fingers in her thoughts, but however she twisted and turned it pursued her._

_"Who are you?"_

_She was fleeing through the trees, her horse running as though the wind itself carried it forwards. Behind her the forest fell, the great trunks of the trees rotting and then bursting into vicious flame as her pursuer closed on her. Ahead she saw figures in grey, one of them stepped forwards, Aragorn had a great winged helm upon his head and in his hands was a mighty sword._

_He raised it up against the foe but she turned away, she could not see him like this, she could feel the burning eye seeking to understand what her thoughts meant. Aragorn was far away, he could not save her._

_She pulled away, fleeing into the path of a silver clad archer who waited his bow raised._

_Haldir! She pressed towards him, her love blossoming in her heart. But then The Eye was there! He had found her, a dark cackle resounded in her mind as golden fire consumed the Warden of Lórien. Far away her kinsmans hands gripped the orb, pulling it from her grasp, a star upon his brow, and she saw the path back to where he was but her heart had no will to go there, the burning fire was flickering and dying and in its place was her hearts greatest fear. The dark vision of her darkest nights. _

_The flame faded and she fell, into a darkness so deep it were as though death itself had come to claim her._

_

* * *

_

The orb tumbled from Anária and Aragorn's overlapping hands. Legolas managed to grab Aragorn as he fell, but Anária collapsed her, wide, sightless eyes fixed unseeing upon the ceiling. Behind him Gandalf had thrown a cloak over the Palantír but Legolas was more concerned with Anária, she was lying on the floor with her eyes staring into nothing. Aragorn was stirring so he let him rest against the floor and moved to Anária. He waved a hand in front of her eyes, but she didn't respond. He took her hands and rubbed them but she was not moving. Behind him Gandalf was interrogating Pippin, Pippin's voice was cracking and tearful in his answers.

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

"Nothing! I didn't tell him!" Aragorn was rousing, he pulled himself to his knees, shaking his head to clear it. Legolas still held Anária's still form in his arms she was cold, her face as white as snow, her grey eyes seemed almost devoid of colour as they stared sightlessly into the air before Legolas' face. Gandalf turned from the hobbit and he cried aloud, rushing forwards to kneel beside Anária, he took her face in his hands and whispered strange words but unlike Pippin she did not come back to wherever she had fled.

"Speak to her Aragorn, bring her back!" Gandalf cried and Aragorn took her hand in his own whispering softly to her in Elvish to come back.

_

* * *

_

Aragorn stood in a dark forest, there was no green here, no life. This was a place long dead. He could see a figure far away in the forest, drenched in shadow and wandering as though lost. He called her.

Anária! _But she heard him not. He set off after her, into the dark shadows, her and there she wandered, but always beyond his call, she slipped through a gap in two trees and for moment he could not see her. He rushed after her, calling her again and again. _Anária! Anária!

_He came unto a clearing and stopped, she was standing next to a great tree that formed a bier, the body upon it was shrouded in grey, and all around it dreary little flowers the colour of storm clouds grew, on a vine that entangled the tree, but left the body untouched. He could not call her now, but he did not need to. She turned to him, her eyes were like the flowers, and the light in them was dull._

_"What end is this? If all I hope comes true sorrow I will bring. What good is this?" He held out his hands to her._

Anária_ he said, beseeching her to return with him, far behind him he could see a place that was warm and bright. She looked at him strangely. As though she did not recognise that name. But then he reached out his hands again, grabbing her arm. He cried out in shock, her arm was cold and lifeless when he touched it, but now it grew warm and the skin turned from grey to pink, and the warmth flowed through his body. Behind him was a great light._

_"Come child, it is not yet your time." She did not move. "All things must end Anária, grieve not for those who find peace in their time. You will not find anything here. Come back to the light." Aragorn turned about, the Lady Galadriel stood bathed in light, her hand upon his shoulder, he looked down. Where she touched him he glowed green, the same tone as the Beryl she had given him. _

_"Take her back now Elessar." He turned round, _Anária _he said softly, and to his surprise she meekly came to him, he lifted her tiny form in his arms and carried her out of the shadows._

_

* * *

__Please Leave me a Review!~_


	4. Chapter 3: A Faint and Fading Hope

**Into the Starless Night**

* * *

A/N: Well this is a quick update, but it is rather late so I might have to do a bit of editing tomorrow!

Please leave me a review!

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all the rights!

* * *

Chapter 3: A Faint and Fading Hope

* * *

Haldir had stood up, his skin prickling, around him his men, restless for minutes had become still, their eyes focused outwards, far away in the darkness a shrill scream pierced the air, Haldir felt the scream in his soul, and he knew what creature it was had made it.

"Valar protect us..." he whispered. And then he looked around, his men were facing south east, to where they had heard the cry. Oh no! The thought rent his heart, south-west his love was, south-west she was bound, and a Naz'gul flew upon the winds.

"Lady of the stars watch over her..." he fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. As dawn rose he knelt there still, the elves around him sat or stood, silent as statues, as their commander wept.

* * *

Gandalf watched as Anária's eyelids fluttered weakly. Over an hour had passed, she and Aragorn seemed worse for the experience than Pippin, Gandalf still marvelled at the remarkable hobbit constitution. Like Aragorn her flesh was pale, almost translucent, and her skin clammy with beads of sweat upon her brow. Finally she opened her eyes, they too seemed drained of colour in the early light of the dawn.

"My child, what did you see? Tell me quickly!" he said, as soon as her eyes focused on him. She licked her lips and blinked once more.

"I saw… I saw the enemy." Gandalf nodded encouragingly. "He wanted to know who I was, Gandalf he… I. I saw Aragorn in my mind when I fled him, Aragorn with a crown with wings… And a great sword of light in his hands."

Gandalf looked at her keenly. He looked at Aragorn. "we must take council with the Horse Lords, the enemy moves on Minas Tirith, Theoden-King must be informed."

* * *

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes." Anária looked away from the hobbit, she sat in the shadows, her eyes hooded and circled with darkness, her skin pale as frost. She felt as though she had not eaten for a week, yet was nauseas at the thought of food. Gandalf's words faded from her ears for a moment.

"Anária?" Aragorn was saying her name, she looked up, they had all turned to look at her.

"Forgive me, my lords?" she said softly. Theoden cleared his voice softly.

"You too saw the enemy? Had this vision?" he asked. His furrowed brow turned towards her briefly before shifting back to Aragorn, and then to Gandalf.

"I did Theoden-King." E looked back at her when she did not continue.

"What did you see?" she looked to Aragorn, he nodded slightly, he had already heard it, as had Gandalf, but the King of Rohan clearly wished to hear it from her lips.

"I saw... " she licked her lips, her throat had gone dry, the words stolen from her lips by the image in her mind. "I saw him..." the words were a whisper, and almost caught before they were out. "I saw the tower of Icthalion crumble into dust, I saw... I saw all the good places of this world fading, I saw... I saw all that I hold dear, and he saw it and he crushed it." She paused. "He saw Aragorn as I see him, the heir of Isildur. And I think... I think he recoiled in that moment, and it was Aragorn who took the Orb from me, and Aragorn who claimed me from its spell."

"But his thought is bent on Minas Tirith?" the King asked, his keen eyes focusing upon her.

"He hates and fears it, he hates and fears that men could gather in strength to oppose him. He has sought to divide and conquer men separately, as you saw here in Rohan. If what I hope comes to pass, there would be strength enough to fight him. He saw my hopes and he fears them." She stood. "If he takes Minas Tirith the blow would be too great, men could not recover, our hope would fail with the fall of the white city. The enemy wants that. He will strike the city soon, I believe he may already have intended to do so, but if he did not, he will certainly move now. He will not want a king upon the throne of Gondor." Theoden looked taken aback, her words had been strong, forceful. A moment before she had sat, shrunken and weary in her chair, now she stood, tall and proud, a hardness in her eyes as sshe realised the King doubted the direness of the situation.

"If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be prepared for war." Gandalf said, finishing his earlier thoughts that haad been interrupted by the king.

"Tell me, why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What does Rohan owe Gondor?"

"I will go to Gondor!" Said Aragorn, pushing to the fore, his anger clear.

"No!" Gandalf said, at the same moment Anária pushed forwards.

"They must be warned!" said RAagorn to Gaandalf, before the wizard could respond she touched Aragorn's arm.

"I will go to Minas Tirith, I was there just a few months ago." She said quietly. Aragorn looked from her to Gandalf, who seemed to be contemplating the option carefully.

"Minas Tirith must be warned." He moved close tpo Aragorn, seeing his words were not ment for her, Anária stepped back quickly. Whatever those words were the stiffened Aragorn's back, his face tightening.

"I ride for Minas Tirith, and I won't be going alone." He said, his eyes passing from Anária to Pippin.

* * *

Haldir felt that the world around him seemed to pass by in eerie stillness, away south-east the storm was gathering, and away to the north, in his home, it was raging too. But the plains of Rohan were quiet. Not peaceful, but quiet. As though the very earth itself had taken a deep breath and awaited the outcome of the storm, and all nature's creatures were huddled away, hiding where they could from the threat that hung upon the air.

It had been five nights sine he had seen her disappear beyond his sight, five nights of searching the stars, five long days across the fields of an empty land, occasionally they saw signs of men moving in haste and number across the land but by fate or chance they had not yet met with any of them. And few words and even less song had passed between the elves, they all felt the need to return to their home.

Haldir glanced behind him, away where he truly wished to be passing, he could feel her growing ever distant, passing into her own ddarkness. He sighed, closing her eyes, in his mind's eye he saw her dark curls, she stood upon his stairs, a smile upon her face. He smiled, and for the first time in days it seemed the breeze was neither a gale, nor still, but gentle and soft, like a caress. And he smiled.

* * *

In Minas Tirith

* * *

"You'd better stay here." Gandalf said quietly, his eyes glancing from her to the door. He then looked at Pippin with the same stern look he had given her, a look of appraisal.

"And you'd better take him within I think." She said, glancing around the open area. If Sauron had spies in Minas Tirith the less Pippin was out in public the better. Gandalf nodded, as they hurried inside she heard Gandalf admonishing the young hobbit as to what he was and was not to say, she smiled to herself, and then turned back to look around the open area. Her eyes returned to the dying tree in the middle of the courtyard, two men had come from another entrance to the great Hall of the King and were moving towards where she stood beneath the tree, speaking in low voices. One of them was dark haired and lordly, the other was a Captain of Gondor from his dress, their words were low and earnest and she did not hear them but she could guess their content. The tall and lordly one saw her standing near the dead tree and paused, he said something to his companion and they both turned to look at her, a few words between them later and the approached her.

"Forgive us, but word has reached us that Mithrandir and two companions have come to Minas Tirith," Said the lord, "would I be mistaken in assuming you are one of his companions?" she looked from one to the other and then shook her head slightly. She noted the Lord had a heraldic design upon his tunic of a Swan and Ship. She knew that device she realised, as the two men shared another glance.

"You are the Lord of Dol Amroth?" she asked quietly. He looked a little surprised.

"I am, milady. Forgive me if I do not recognise your own device." He flicked a hand in the direction of the bodice of her robes. Like the green dress, her red robes carried the symbol of a golden star above red waves and like her shield, enclosed by a circle of Mallorn leaves. She smiled.

"It is a new device my lord, designed by the Lady of Lórien." The Prince of Dol Amroth looked startled.

"You speak of myths milady!" he said in astonishment.

"But we live in an age of myths My Lord Prince." She pointed to the Eastern sky. "There lies Mordor, the land of shadows, ruled by an Evil Lord whose name I will not speak so close to his realm. But just as he rules there, so those of light rule elsewhere." She looked between them. "There are still many fair folk, and fair places in this world not yet corrupted." She looked between them, she saw that in this land myths were studied but she doubted whether faith and hope had much currency anymore in the realm of Gondor.

"We should already be in the council." Reminded the other man and the Prince nodded to him absently, his eyes still focused on Anária. She stood still as they departed returning to the Palace through the side door. It was only a short time later than Gandalf emerged from the Hall, muttering and cursing.

"A thousand years this city has stood and now at the whim of a madman it will fall!" Anária fell into step with them as they skirted the tree. Gandalf paused to look up at the tree. "And the white tree, the tree of the King will never bloom again." He cursed again and set off for the farthest point of the plateau.

"Why do the guard it?" Pippin asked her, he seemed a little abashed, she longed to know what had passed in the hall.

"They guard it because they hope that it will bloom again, when the king returns." She said quietly. Gandalf didn't break his stride.

"Ha! A faint and Fading hope it is becoming. That a king will come and this city will be as it once was before it fell into decay." He paused to look down at the levels with their great houses, so many of whom had fallen into decay and ruin.

"Why did it fail Gandalf? Where did the men of Gondor go wrong?" she asked softly, looking out to the east, it surely could not only be because of the shadow that so much ruin was upon the land.

"The old wisdom born out of the west was forsaken." Said Gandalf, turning his piercing blue eyes upon her as he spoke, in them was an age worth of grief and sadness at the decay of the once bright city and its people. "Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living and counted the old names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons." He added looking down to the great city below. She shivered. In the North there was little time for examination of history, the tales were told at campfires and in the dark. In the daylight hours the Dúnedain tilled and worked the land, or wandered as Rangers patrolling the borders and protecting the scattered homesteads. She had been given freedom of Elrond's library and so had read of tales her kinsman only knew by the sharing of songs and tales by the campfire.

"Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry, or in high, cold towers asking questions of the stars. And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin." He was not speaking to her now but looking at the city below, his words were said in such a way that she knew this was a subject he had spoken on before.

"And then the line of Kings failed, when Eänur was lost in the shadow of Minas Morgul." She said quietly, looking out to the north-east where the cursed city lay. An unnatural darkness was slowly coming west out of the Land of Shadow, the fume of Mount Doom slowly spreading forwards, like a great dark hand reaching out towards the White City.

"Yes, the line of Kings failed. The white tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men." Said Gandalf in a hurried voice, laced with bitterness.

"And now the armies of Mordor are on the march."

"Oh yes." Said Gandalf, returning his gaze to the distant dark clouds of fume and smoke.

"A storm is coming." Said Pippin softly, as though the words were a thought spoken aloud.

"This is not the weather of the world, Pippin my lad. This is a device of Sauron's making. A broil of fume he sends ahead of his host. The Orcs of Mordor have no love of daylight, so he covers the face of the sun to ease their passage along the road to war. When the shadow of Mordor reaches this city it will begin." Anária felt a cold shadow pass over the sun, the shadow was already almost upon the ruins of Osgilliath far below to the north-east.

As though reading her mind Gandalf spoke. "The outer defences will not hold long enough I fear." He looked over at her, his eyes stern and sad. "This task is what Aragorn commanded of you and I Anária, defend Minas Tirith, the defences must hold until he gets here." She nodded, understanding what he was not saying: She must go to Osgilliath, she must help it to hold for as long as possible.

"I will go soon, Brasnora will not travel swiftly I fear it taxed her greatly to ride in Shadowfax's wake." Anária sighed, she loved the beast greatly, but she felt it had been a great difficulty the journey. And she feared all that kept Brasnora's hooves moving was some power of Shadowfax to keep her strong. Hopefully a couple of hours in the stables and oats would restore her somewhat.

"That she kept up with him shows the calibre of the gift the Lady Galadriel gave you. She may not be a Mearas but she is of that kind, and Elven trained to boot." Gandalf looked at her again, this time a twinkle was in his eyes. "She was a princely gift indeed, as was that sword."

Pippin had wandered away. Anária had the distinct feeling that he felt rather down now that it was clear they would remain in Minas Tirith.

"I know Gandalf, I know." He looked closely at her, his eyes searching her face for something.

"And remember that it is not the horse or the weapon that matters, but the one who rides and wields. Brasnora would not obey every rider's order to follow Shadowfax, nor would every hand cause your sword to burn."

"Peregrin Took? Come young Hobbit, there is much to do today!" he called. He looked at Anária once more, reaching out he clasped her in a gruff hug, his mouth at her ear he whispered instructions in Quenya, a language almost never spoken in Middle Earth, not since the First Age had it been common. She nodded and tried to smile, he smiled a little back at her and then he called the Hobbit to him and they descended the tunnel to the lower levels of the city. She paused to look out towards Osgilliath for a moment, the dark shade was almost upon it. With a deep sight she turned away and followed the Wizard's path to the lower level, near the entrance to the stables she paused.

"Brasnora! Im baur le*!" there was a neighing and Brasnora came out from the stable at a slow walk, her headstall and saddle were in tact and she was still munching some oats, a startled stable hand came after her, still holding the bag she must have been feeding from.

"Hey!" he called, obviously unsure of what the horse was about in walking away from a well deserved feed.

"I thank you for caring for my mount!" she called as she mounted Brasnora, she stroked the great white neck, leaning close to her mount's ear she spoke.

"Gohen-nin meldis. Im baur lí horth.**" The horse tossed her head. They set off down the street at Brasnora's steady trot that covered ground quickly without tiring her too greatly.

"Hannon le!***"

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* I need you!

** Forgive me friend. I need your speed.

*** Thank you!


	5. Interlude: Arwen's choice

**Into the Starless Night**

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Synopsis: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. Hopefully I will upload a full chapter soon. I thought my story lacked showing how it melds the movies and book together so this scene shows that, as well as being about Arwen, one of my favourite characters to write, but also one of the most difficult.

Warning, this is NOT in chronological order with the story. Nor will the next interlude be, which will follow the next chapter... Thank you!

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all rights! I own a laptop!

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Interlude: Arwen's Choice

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Golden leaves were turning slowly to brown. The last homely house was in mourning, so many of those who had dwelt there had passed away west, thought it seemed to Arwen she heard their voices still. A melancholy echo that passed through the leaves, a sad murmur of mourning. A chill was in the air, or perhaps it was in Arwen. She felt it had settled in upon her, as snow down upon a mountain top. And there was little she could do to warm herself. Arwen rose to her feet, her gown rustled against the fallen leaves as she stepped away from the stone bench. All unbidden her steps took her away from the house, through arches and down well worn steps. She slipped through soft tendrils of the trees which seemed to almost try to hold her back. As she walked she encountered no one, the silence was eerie, those who remained were as distressed at the passing of their kin as the trees.

She slipped down into a shaded glen, to her surprise here green remained, as though untouched by the sadness surrounding it, the glen where Gilraen's statue had been placed still flourished. Arwen approached the memorial, cool water trickled nearby, the soft splashes almost seemed merry to her ears and in the cool dark for a moment she felt warmth infuse her very being. Here she knew there was hope. She closed her eyes listening to the soft drops and the rustle of the green leaves, somewhere something small moved, its feet a gentle pitta-pat upon stone. No, they were not gentle steps, they were swift, someone was running. Arwen opened her eyes.

Bright laughter sprang from the shadows, she turned and caught her breath, Aragorn was leading a pony into the clearing, a dark haired lad sat astride the horse. And both were laughing. Arwen longed to rush to them, she knew they were hers; her husband and her son. She watched as Aragorn solemnly checked his sons gear, both were dressed in black, tabards bearing the white tree of Gondor and belts with swords.

As Aragorn moved she saw the sword, she knew its hilt. She knew that blade.

"Renewed shall be blade that is broken..." she had heard that rhyme, she had known its meaning. As she looked back up to their faces the faded from her sight.

For a moment she was still as the statue of Gilraen. She looked into that gentle face and knew. Knew what must be done. She gathered up her russet skirts and as lightly as she had ever she ran. Up stairs, across the bridge, through the courtyard, and up, to where her father sat beneath a golden tree.

"Ada! Ada, I have seen it. I have seen the hope there is. I saw my child!" He looked at her, his eyes weary and troubled.

"That hope is fading. It is almost passed." He said wearily, passing a hand across his brow.

"But it is not. The Sword ada, I saw the sword. Narsil, it must be reforged." She spoke hurriedly, even as she spoke she felt the chill of the morning return. She moved into library, she ran her hands along the spines of the book, the one she wanted must be there. She found it she lifted it. It fell open, almost as though it wanted to show her what she wished to see.

"Father, reforge the sword."

"I can only reforge it, I cannot give Aragorn the strength to wield it." Her father said quietly. His face grave.

"I can." She said softly. Sitting down upon the bed she felt the book fall from her hands. Within a moment he was at her side, he lifted the book, touching her face gently. She saw a momentary pain pass across his features, his eyes closing for a moment.

"You have chosen then." He said softly. "You will remain, until the end of your life. Here in this middle earth." She saw the pain in his eyes, the way the words cam low and slowly, and she tried to smile, to comfort him.

"I made my choice ada, I made it long ago."

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Please Review! Reviews make me happy.


	6. Chapter 4: Under the Dome of Stars

**Into the Starless Night**

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Synopsis: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC

A/N: Welcome to the second part of Anária's story! If you have not read "Daughter of Númenor" I suggest you do so, this story will not contain any of the back story provided in it.

Again I apologise for delays!

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all rights. I own my laptop!

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Chapter 4: Under the Dome of Stars

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Haldir looked up, far above him the mellorn gave way and faint stars could still be seen as the night gave way to dawn. For many days he had seen a veil across their glitter, something dark that strangled their light and muffled them. He looked down, there was barely any movement in the city tonight. Most of the Elves were away, to the east and north protecting the borders. Already there had been one assault which had been driven back by the combined power of the Lady's power and the Lord's forces. He had not been there however, Galadriel had charged him with the defence of the city itself, if the enemy should breach the outer defences.

He knew this was to spare him battle, for he had not yet regained his former strength. He moved quietly through his home. Towards the healing ward where Anárion lay recovering. He talked haltingly, mostly he asked Haldir questions, or related small stories. By their content Haldir knew the love the young man had for his sister.

Moving swiftly Haldir turned his thoughts to his love. He felt empty without her, in vain he strived for contentment such as he had known before. That soft contentment of a life lived with friends and family, with duty and compassion.

But it eluded him. He was no longer whole, he was undone, a part of him had been given and like any gift it could not be brought back. He knew that with her by his side he would feel whole, feel strong. But she was not by his side. Anária. Anária Dúnedain. In his mind he felt her soft locks, the gentle weight of her in his arms, the soft warmth of her lips on his.

He paused outside the healing halls. Closing his eyes a moment to think on that moment, the anxious eyes, they way she shivered in his arms, not from cold he knew. Then he sent it back to that place in his mind he kept her when he spoke with her brother, that no hint of his feelings might escape.

He walked into the ward, nodding to a healer as he passed him. He slipped through to the ward where lay the young man, with his pale skin and sunken cheeks. The poison on the blades of the orcs had racked him with pain and they had eaten away at the young man. Haldir doubted he would ever be the warrior and man he had been before the attack.

This morning he was at least sitting up, and when Haldir entered a weak smile came to his lips.

"Ah, my visitor... Good morrow My Lord." Haldir bowed.

"Good morning, I see you feel a little better today." Haldir replied, moving to his usual seat by the bed.

"A little, I thank you." Anádor replied, his pale face had beads of sweat upon its pale brow, grey eyes glittered with fever and illness. A healer moved through the room, he brought a pale broth and soft bread upon a tray. Haldir stood to help the healer with the tray, pouring water into a golden wood goblet.

"Thank you." The patient replied.

Both Elves smiled, the young Elfmaid sat in Haldir's vacated chair, lifting a silver spoon of broth to the patient's lips. Haldir retreated to a corner of the room watching and waiting. Each day Anádor drank a little more, with a little less effort. And grew a little stronger.

Haldir leaned against the wall, his eyes to the window, where beyond pale flowers were beginning to open as golden shafts of sunlight passed through the Mellorn's leaves. He closed his eyes far away to the south he knew his love moved in darkness while he was here safe. Such a bitter cup was duty, so difficult it was. And yet he knew that sunlight must return, he only hoped she would still be there when the darkness had passed.

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Anária slowed Brasnora from her mile eating trot to a prancing walk as they approached Osgiliath, darkness shrouded the city, as is the afternoon sunlight that still shone upon Minas Tirith was here strangled and blocked by some dark presence. She could sense Brasnora's unease as they approached the ruined city. Once it had been the capital of Gondor, and it had been named for the Great Dome of Stars, its most prominent building. It had long stood in ruin since the fall of Minas Ithil to the Ringwraiths. Already she knew the East Bank had been in Enemy hands since the previous year, and she feared the West was under manned. Anária knew that it would fall sooner rather than later, there was not enough strength left in Gondor to face the armies she had seen both in her visions and in the Palantir – although she had grave doubts over what she had seen in the accursed seeing stone of Orthanc.

"Halt! Who goes there?" A voice cried out from the ruins. She did not have to give Brasnora any command, as the great elfhorse pulled up at the words without any. She scanned the ruins more carefully. She saw several shadows high up amongst the ruins. She raised a brow, these rangers of the South were clearly not without some ability!

She pulled back her hood so that what little light there was would reveal her face to them. She knew it not but amongst those who had been summoned to see the approaching rider from Minas Tirith was the Captain of Gondor himself. He heard the whisper run through his men 'A woman?', yet in that moment he perceived no mere woman, he saw something he had not seen in his life, one of the daughters of Númenor, a Queen of the West born again, undiminished by the passing years of the world.

"I am Anária Dúnedain, I come on behalf of Mithrandir who has entered the White City and taken counsel with Denethor!" She watched as a man stepped forth from the shadows above, he pulled back his hood and looked down at her from a ruined archway.

"I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor. Enter, friend of Mithrandir." He motioned for her to pass through below him. She bowed her head to the lord above her and Brasnora carried her forth, although she seemed unwilling to enter the doomed city of her own will. Anária knew she did so only out of loyalty to her rider; though she made her discomfort clear by a snort and shake of her proud head as she lightly stepped between the rubble and where small tufts of stunted grass had crept between. Gravel and dirt was all that remained of the streets and gardens of Osgiliath. Anária felt it was a shame that the capital of her distant ancestors had so fallen into ruin and despair. Already she could feel a sort of heaviness in the air, like an oncoming storm but filled with malevolent malice, to the east the sky was dark with threat and she could feel it coming closer.

Several knights of Gondor in their silver armour stood in what remained of a stone plaza ahead, once it might have been a marketplace or city square. Now it was tumbled and the stone work cracked and riddled with squares of dirt and stagnant pools of water.

The remains of a stone fountain had been jumbled into a heap in the centre of the open space, a large boulder near them, embedded in the ground, giving her a clue as to what had broken the fountain itself. From an entrance to her right came Faramir, the son of Denethor, she saw in him the same strength as had long been in the line of Stewards. She saw in him a strength she had seen in few men of these southern regions, and not in such strength, but which reminded her strongly of her kinsman of the North.

* * *

Faramir walked towards the strange messenger. Never in his life had he set eyes upon his kin from the north though he had heard many tales of them from Mithrandir. He saw the Wizard had not been wrong when he said that in the Dúnedain the blood of Westernesse ran truer than in any other realm of Men. He looked at her raiment, it was clear she was girded for battle, a long red robe was covered by chainmail of some bright silver metal the like of which he had not seen before. Upon that was set a breastplate of strange make. Her shield hung from her saddle, even in the darkness he perceived a Star above a Red Wave upon black, set amid a ring of Golden leaves. Scratches and dints upon the face of the shield spoke of recent use, as did a repaired slash in her red cloak.

She leapt lightly from the horse as he approached her. His men were still a little wary, as was he, but as he looked upon her once more he saw that he had little need to be. In her face shone a radiance which gave him pause. Her dark hair was bound back in braids and twists, about her throat glittered red and gold, and upon her brow he saw a light, like a pale star had come to rest there.

"Captain of Gondor." She said gravely, inclining her head in a bow that treated him as an equal. He returned the slight bow, thinking as he did so that he had never heard tell of female rangers, was the North so beset that even the women had to serve? It was a troubling thought.

He met her eyes, grey they were, and clear. She glanced about, looking at his men, many of whom were still gripping their sword pommels, while others held bows in their hands in case she was not who she said she was. He motioned slightly with his hand and Damrod quietly ordered the men back to their posts. He himself remained behind, as commander of the Rangers of Ithilien he often stood beside his Captain when news came or when orders were brought, more than that, he was responsible for the safety of the only remaining heir to the stewardship of Gondor.

"You said you had come on behalf of Mithrandir?" he asked. She looked briefly at Damrod and he saw a strange intensity in her eyes as she scrutinised the ranger, but soon she returned her eyes to his and he felt that same scrutiny turned upon him.

"I do. I bring his counsel to you." Faramir smiled slightly, he heard the unspoken words as clearly as if she had said them – as he knew she had intended. She did not bring word from his father nor, he suspected, had his father much wished for Mithrandir's council.

"Speak then." He commanded, moving to sit upon a broken piece of rubble.

"Osgiliath will be lost, the armies if Mordor are already on the march, last night the Lord of Minas Morgul took flight, his army marches here, they will attack this eve, and on the morrow you shall be fleeing for Minas Tirith." Faramir felt a great heaviness upon his heart. Her words filled him with dread, they could not stand against the Wraiths and Orcs. His men would break when such evil came upon them. "But Hope is coming, the beacons have been lit, the Rohirrim ride to Gondor's aid." She smiled then, a small thing, just a faintest curve to her lips but it made her seem very young to Faramir.

"We have little time left then." said Damrod. "We should prepare for the assault."

"How much time do you need to get your men in place?" she asked.

"Not long, but we have too few to properly defend the city. The enemy know this, they will strike hard. We will not be able to hold." Faramir said quietly, looking through the ruins towards the city, he could not see it yet dimly he was aware that he knew creatures were massing on the opposite shore.

"But time we need; and so time we shall have." She said, in her words he heard Mithrandir's voice, truly she was his messenger. "I do not know if I have the power to do as he bids but we may yet hold the river long enough." She continued, her eyes darting around the fallen rubble. Around them the very air seemed to darken as though night was truly falling in the midst of the day. "Your men should eat now, and prepare the horses for a fast retreat if it should be necessary." Faramir nodded and waved to Damrod who set off immediately to pass the orders.

"We will not be able to delay them much longer for being prepared. They will be bold even if they know we are prepared for their coming." Faramir said, he expected her to look at least a little downcast at his words, but rather she smiled; a radiant smile of hope.

"But My Lord, we may yet be able to strike a blow at their very hearts." She had her hand upon the hilt of her sword. "Please tell your man not to shoot me if I draw my sword." She said, glancing up at an alcove above. Looking up Faramir despite knowing where the man was had trouble discerning his presence as he was all but invisible. He waved a hand at the man. Behind him their was the sharp ring of a sword being drawn. He looked around, the silver sword in her hands was glittering and flawless as the day it was made. He could see the marks of Elvish script upon it and even in the gloom it seemed bright.

"That is a beautiful weapon." He said quietly. "May I?" he asked, holding out a hand. she smiled and handed it over, but as soon as he held it the glow seemed to fade, like a cloud over the moon, the light was still there but it was not bright. The sword was beautifully balanced but after only a moment his arm grew heavy. He looked down at the writing but for some reason he could not read it. He shivered, the sword was cold and heavy in his mind's eye he saw a Gold Ring. He passed it back to her quickly.

So recently he had seen that evil ring and he knew the sword sensed it. He did not know how he knew, but he knew. And though he had not desired the ring for himself, he would truly not have stooped to take it from any roadside, the sword loathed his touch.

"That is no ordinary sword!" he said looking at it strangely.

"It came out of the West, with the Faithful and fought in the Last Great Alliance against Sauron, to the very gates of Mordor it went and there the Elves found it amongst the bodies of our ancestors." She was looking at him strangely. He did not know it but as he held the sword it had been as though a shadow had hovered behind him, unseen in the gloom. She had let no other touch the sword since it had come to her and she had felt that perhaps she should not let others handle it. But to refuse his request would have seemed churlish. She knew that the sword was hers, perhaps it had always been meant to be hers.

"Is this how you will strike fear into our enemies then? An ancient sword?" he had started moving through the buildings, leading her down, closer to the water.

"I also have another idea, well – half an idea. But it might help our cause, if it delays them an hour that will give them an hour less before the gates of the city and an hour more for our reinforcements to arrive. That may be all the extra time we need." She smiled once more, her face still luminous in the darkness.

* * *

Night was truly beginning to fall, many hours before it ought, the east bank was invisible, grey fog like a strange smoke shrouded the water. Faramir look up to his right, Anária was waiting behind the pillar of a half ruined archway three stories off the ground, her eyes were focused on the west, as though she could see the sun that had long since faded. All the men were in position, they had eaten and knew of the attack, they were ready and waiting, the sentry's had been ordered to stay hidden from view, the enemy was to see nothing except what it was planned they should see. The silence of his men was so deep that he heard a soft water noise drift over the water, a boot on wood. The enemy was on the move. Anária had stood, she looked over at him and nodded.

She unsheathed her sword and then placed the point upon the ground. Standing in the dark she raised her head to the heavens and a song like a nightingale broke from her lips, the Elvish word's tumbling out into the night air like a warm breeze to cut through the cold and despair, and though her song was sorrowful it lifted her heart.

_Tinúviel elvanui!_

_Elleth alfirin edhelhael,_

_O hon ring finnil fuinui_

_A renc gelebrin thiliol!_

Across the water the Orcs were transfixed, some cowered and covered their ears, others growled impotently for the song hurt them but they could not harm it. Out of the night air it came, on soft wings to steal their courage, their hatred boiling uselessly. Even their commanders quailed, and high above the Witch-King of Angmar bent his will upon the voice, searching for it, reaching for it but it eluded him, bathed in silvery white he saw her, beyond his grasp beneath the Golden trees of a Realm he had never seen, always just out of his reach and he screamed in anger.

Below the men of Gondor felt their courage grow, the sad words of the song pierced the gloom and lifted up their hearts as she sang and they felt hope, a feeling that had faded from their hearts come alive again.

"Forwards you scum!" commanded Gorbag, raising his sword to threaten those who cowered about him. And though they obeyed him they did so in fear, cowering rather than charging, and when a bright sword stood before them they cried out their fear.

Beside her stood the Captain of Gondor, behind them the Rangers and Knights of Gondor stood firm just a little longer than they might, and many more of the creatures of Gondor fell before them...

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~Please Review~


	7. Chapter 5: Wings of Darkness

**Into the Starless Night**

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Synopsis: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC

A/N: Welcome to the second part of Anária's story! If you have not read "Daughter of Númenor" I suggest you do so, this story will not contain any of the back story provided in it.

Sorry this is a short chapter but everything is coming to a head now and needs to come together perfectly...

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all rights. I own my laptop!

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Chapter 5: Wings of Darkness

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Haldir sat upon the wooden floor of his balcony, behind him white curtains of gossamer thin silk shifted softly in the breeze, below and around him the city of Galadhon was hushed, no voices were raised in song. Far above he could see white stars, they too were silent.

His golden-white hair was loose from its braids, his sleeping robes were light and the cool night breeze passed through them to caress his skin. He closed his eyes, many ages of the world had he seen, many great and powerful lords had he known. His Lady had the sight, as did his love. He had never knowingly had it, but he had never sought it. All Elves had foresight of one kind or another, he had never delved into it in peacetime, never had he felt the need to. In battle he had known it, when he was in battle he felt all those around him, he _knew_ where his enemies were before they were there, and what they would do before they. He had used that power then, and know he would try and use it differently.

Now he turned his mind to a single task, all the will and strength of centuries, all the years of mental training, all the years as warrior and defender of his lands. He turned all of himself, every ounce of strength he possessed upon a single point in space. That in which Anária now was at this moment.

His breathing deepened. The gentle sounds of his homeland, the wind in the leaves, an occasional voice or sound from the homes near and far, a step upon wood; all were sharpened in his mind, in that moment he knew the presence of every Elf nearby, the breaths of a young elf sleeping in the neighbouring home. He felt it all. And then it passed away, he moved away from them, seeking a single presence in the world. The one he sought was far away and yet he strained towards her.

She was in darkness, no stars shone upon her, no light passed over her but that she wielded.

In her hands it shone in his mind, sharp as stars in a midnight sky, her eyes were calm, her voice rang out, rallying others to her, he felt the power in her voice, the way it calmed those around her. Because above her was death itself, riding upon the winds and the men of the south were afeared of it. She moved back, ever back, her sword striking out to defend the retreat, giving ground as those beside her did, as they fell or fell back.

He felt her there, the taste of flowers upon her hair, the softness of her skin. She grabbed the arm of one of those near her and he came into sharper focus for Haldir, he was tall and fair, she pulled him back, behind a stony wall as archers fired a volley into the approaching orcs.

Screams rent the air, darkness was coming closer. Haldir looked up, Nazgul! Ringwraiths. He saw Anária raise her sword, its light filling the darkness, the Nazgul screamed once more, their anger, their hatred.

"Retreat! Retreat to Minas Tirith!" The Nazgul screamed once more and soft foot stepped upon his balcony.

Haldir felt himself ripped from Anária's side.

He took to his feet unsteadily. Galadriel stood in the doorway of his balcony, her eyes did not look at him, they gazed past him.

"My Lady." He gasped, his hand upon his heart, he then bowed, awaiting her command. His skin was wet with cold sweat, he could feel exhaustion in his very bones. He had used much energy for such a brief few moments of vision.

"You seek much my Captain." She said quietly, her words were like music, they played across his ears. He straightened.

"I seek reassurance My Lady." He said softly, hearing the reproach in her voice. Her eyes still gazed away from him, turning up to the stars above.

"You seek to be with your love though she is far away. You seek to keep her safe when you have no means to do so. You seek..." She turned her eyes upon him. "To know at the instant if you lose her." He lowered his eyes from hers. "You need not strain your mind and soul to seek her over the miles Haldir. If she passes from this life you will know, you will know..." In his heart he felt a twinge, he felt it, he felt in that moment Anária passing over a plain, with wings of darkness blocking out the sun above her.

Galadriel stepped close, placing his hand upon his chest, upon his heart.

"She is here Haldir, you need not seek her elsewhere, for she is within you. Such is the power of love and the oath the binds you too her." He took a deep breath, he looked into his Lady's eyes, he saw a whirl of stars within them, she smiled, compassionate.

"Thank you My Lady." She inclined her head.

"You are most welcome." She said softly. She turned from him, he placed his hands upon the rail of the balcony, behind him his lady paused, he turned to see her standing in the white curtains.

"Have courage young one, believe in her."

"My Lady." He bowed. The slightest movement of her hand summoned him after her. He followed her from his home, pulling a red cloak to his shoulders he passed through the great Mellorn of Caras Galadhon behind the White Lady.

* * *

Anária whistled, within moments she heard Brasnora answer her, a neigh. The great mare was rearing up, her great front hooves came down, crushing an orc, Anária leapt up, grabbing a hand full of mane, without a word of instruction the mare turned, as she did so the great back hooves lashed out, catching another of Mordor's creatures, throwing a half dozen of them to the ground. The soldiers of Gondor were already gone, she could see them ahead of her, Brasnora darted through open spaces and under archways. Then they reached the plain, Brasnora's great legs quickly eating up the distance between her and the retreating knights. Anária leaned back in the saddle, taking a moment to sheathe her sword. Then above her she heard a great screech. A mangled scream of hatred and loathing. She instantly pulled her sword back out, instinctively she thrust it above her.

"Elbereth! Elbereth Gilthoniel!" She cried, she felt the sword answer her, like a sweet note of music, and it glowed with white fire: but the darkness was closing in. She felt its cold shadow pass over her, around her men cried out in fear as the wings passed over them.

"To me Men of the West! To me!" she called as Brasnora made her way through the other mounted men. She found herself beside the Captain of Gondor. She motioned with her sword, indicating her move to the right, she herself passed to the left through the retreating men, her horse hooves gracefully dancing amidst the other animals.

"Dúnedain!" she called again, within moments she heard the Captain of Gondor call to his men, words of courage and warning laced with cries of "Gondor". He urged them to keep together, to watch for the creatures above. As Brasnora reached the outside of the group she twisted her hips in the sadly, her right leg pressing the animals flank.

Obedient as ever the great animal wheeled, her rump almost upon the grass, rearing up then, her great hooves towards the sky, and neighing a response to the dark creatures above. Anária looked up as Brasnora pranced on the spot. She saw the dark creatures, those jagged wings, and another scream rent the air as one of the creatures dove upon a straggler.

"Valar give me strength!" she whispered as man and beast went tumbling. All sound seemed to fade as she felt the other creature turn towards her; it began to dive, great black claws, its hideous snakelike neck arched.

'Ai Elbereth Gilthoniel!

To lands remote I have looked afar,

And now to thee, Fanuilos,

Bright spirit clothed in ever-white,

I here will sing beyond the Sea ~

Beyond the wide and sundering Sea

Ai! Elbereth…'

The words came unbidden, she had heard them as a child, she had heard them sung by Elves in Imladris and Lothlórien, and now she sung them upon the plains of Gondor. With a shrieking cry the creature seemed for a moment to lose itself in her song, it jerked mid-flight and the Nazgul screamed, in anger and pain. It banked and climbed higher in the sky as did the others, but only for a moent.

She opened her eyes as they climbed above her, she knew their revulsion would not stop them, in a few more moments they would dive again, but every moment brought the fleeing soldiers closer to home.

Brasnora turned and leapt after the fleeing Gondorians, Anária leant close to her white neck as the great animal lengthened her stride until it seemed her hooves barely touched the grass. Anária knew the great horse could not keep this pace for long, but at this moment she felt she was floating upon Brasnora's back as the wind ripped past her.

Far ahead a single white figure left the gates of Minas Tirith. The great wings crashed down once again, another unearthly scream and more horses tumbled, their riders cries of fear and pain cut off as they fell.

Then a white light streamed forth and Gandalf was there, his great staff shining with blessed light. And they were passing through great white gates, with a rumble the gates swung shut behind them.

Brasnora pushed through the crowd, her hooves demanding a return to the stables of the sixth level, alone she rode up the winding path, a glance behind told her Gandalf and the young Captain of Gondor were following behind with Pippin, deep in conversation. As she passed through the streets dark eyed townsfolk looked at her, their eyes filled with fear and shock. The loss of the outer defences was clearly a dark moment for these people.

The city was filled with darkness and fear. The people of Gondor were on the very edge of despair.

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Haldir felt impatient, there was strife on the borders, everything in him cried out for him to rush to the aid of his people, to defend his home and his family. But these things he could not do. He was almost healed, but his orders were to remain in the city as the commander of the final defence should the borders be breached. It chafed on him, he felt at turns ill, and then frustrated. He waited in a glen nearby to where his Lady was, awaiting her commands.

But he could not wait calmly, every now and again hewould leap to his feet and pace, his mind conjuring how he could entreat the lady to let him depart. And then he would feel ill and dizzy, his head would spin with those precious brief images of Anária in the darkness of Mordor and he would feel like weeping.

He turned back again in his pacing. He had left his house with Galadirel, and he was for glad, for now even the woods of Lothlórien felt too small for the first time in his long life. He paused, suddenly thinking of something he had not thought of before. His house, his home, he though of dark-haired children in that house, his family's house. The thought shocked him to stillness. Not the family of his parents and brothers, but _his_ family...

They next moment despair struck him again. The vision was all dependent on events beyond his reach, and again he felt despair pile upon him as darkness fell took hold of the Dome of Stars.

Haldir fled the glade, he ordered another warden to take his place, he saw the consternation on the elf's face at his actions, abandoning his post, but he could not stay still another moment. He felt a need for something, reassurance he could not have. He hurried towards the houses of healing. Perhaps another child of the Dúnedain might able to reassure his heart...

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	8. Chapter 6: The City of Despair

**Into the Starless Night**

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Synopsis: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC

A/N: Thank you for continuing with this story! And thank you for all the supportive reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy this story!

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all rights. I own my laptop

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Chapter 6: The City of Despair

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Anária stood still and silent in the great hall of the King, she stared at the empty throne of white, she could almost feel the emptiness upon that ancient seat. The low, sonorous voice of the Steward drew back her attention. Such a contrast to the gentle voice of the Hobbit before him. Pippin was clad in his guard's raiment, a foolish yet brave thing to see. Like a child aspiring to manhood too soon. Just to her left stood the young Captain of Gondor, watching the ceremony with a mixture of pain and doubt upon his countenance.

As though he sensed her eyes he turned his head to look at her, she noticed his eyes sweep again over her, he smiled a little, a reassuring look and a nod of his head. She was clad in a gown she had not yet worn but which had come from the hands of Galadriel's maids. It had been packed in Brasnora's saddle bags. It was rich velvet in a blue the tone of midnight skies, with pale jewelled stars upon her throat and great bell sleeves of fine silk in palest silver. She had considered it in Edoras but it had seemed too dour a gown for the happy feast, with the hale people of Rohan and the warmth of Meduseld.

Behind her a small group of lordly men stood still, watching in their dark robes. The Princes and Captains of Gondor. She was surprised they listened in silence as the Steward dressed down his son.

"Much must be risked in war. Is there a Captain here who still has the courage to do his lords will?" The words were a challenge and a threat. There was great darkness and power in the voice of the Steward, and something else; a discordant note.

"You wish now that our places had been exchanged... That I had died and Boromir had lived." The dark muttered answer brought a tear to Anária's eye. "Since you were robbed of Boromir I will do what I can in his stead." Faramir bowed to his father and turned, he met her eyes, she saw great pain and sadness there. He paused, looking back a little over his shoulder at his lord.

"If I should return... Think better of me, father." The words were heavy and Anária felt the unease of those behind her but none of them spoke a word against the darkness in the Steward.

"That will depend upon the manner of your return!" The words cut through the pale room and she almost felt the way it cut through Faramir, who held himself like a wounded man as he walked from the hall. Anária sketched her own bow to the Steward and made to leave.

"Not so quickly you!" The voice was stern and commanding, but Anária took another two steps before stopping, and whirling on her heel, the tear upon her cheek but a memory. "Who are you?" The Steward was peering at her with searching, fiery eyes.

"I am a Ranger, My Lord Steward." He stood suddenly.

"A ranger from the north!" she inclined her head curtly. "A wanderer lost in the wilds of that forgotten land. How came you here?" He demanded.

"I came with Mithrandir." His eyes narrowed. "And not all those who wander are lost. My Lord _Steward_." She added, emphasising his title.

"You forget yourself Ranger!" he barked, pulling himself up from his seat, glaring at her menacingly.

"I forget myself? I think not My Lord. I am Anária Dúnedain, of the House of Anárion, descendant of the Kings of Gondor and Arnor, kinswoman of the chieftain of the Dúnedain, raised in the house of Elrond Half-Elven and bearer of the gifts of Galadriel." She was walking towards him now, and though she did not know it the others around shrunk from her, her eyes flashed with silver fire, and the air cracked like before a lightning storm. "I know who and what I am Denethor, Steward of Gondor. And I know what must be done to save this city."

And with that she bowed, but not to the Steward, but to the empty throne behind him.

"You seek to rule here! I know what you are! I have seen you! I have seen it all!" His cries were hysterical, spittle dragged at the corners of his mouth and his eyes were wide. She looked into his crazed eyes and saw it, a shadow she could almost reach out to touch. A darkness in whirling shadows in a dark globe. Her eyes narrowed, she knew what it was he thought he had seen.

"You have seen no more than a fool's nightmare." She turned away from him, marching from the hall, ignoring his cries and demands for her to return, and his ravings against her. As did the guards and lordly men while she stood amongst them with her bright flashing eyes.

As she left they shook their heads, as though a spell had been cast over them while she was present and at her departure the spell was broken. She paused at the top of the stairs, the sun was almost gone, blackness reached out for the city, borne upon a wind which carried an acrid scent. She saw Faramir's figure outlined against that darkness, her steps carried her down towards him. "Faramir!" she called, but he made no move to acknowledge her. She was running past the pond with its stark white tree. When it struck her how sad it looked in the growing gloom.

She paused, looking back at that dead tree – its limbs looked forlorn and somehow tragic against the stark majesty of the white hall.

She looked back at the equally forlorn figure who stared out at the darkness and her voice seemed to die in her throat. His hands had been behind his back, she watched the furtive way he wiped at his face before returning his hands to their former position. As though he felt her watching his head turned a little, not enough to look at her, but enough to acknowledge her presence. She walked forwards, aware of the way her heavy blue gown dragged upon the stone, and was tugged by the dirty feeling wind.

"You cannot halt them." He did not reply; there was no need to. He stared sadly at the darkness that was creeping ever closer. She stood behind his shoulder, allowing him his privacy

"It is growing darker." He said softly, his voice deep and warm, but with an edge of bitter unhappiness to it. He turned now to look at her, his face pale and sad in the gloom, but noble and proud.

"I fear this darkness saps my people of their will to fight, they will need help." His eyes were beseeching. "I know Mithrandir will use his power to help protect my home, you will help this city?" She closed her she was present, and when she departed it was broken. And the will of Denethor again fell over his guards and servants, but by this stage his cries had fallen silent and he simply regarded the closed doors of his hall with feverish eyes.

"I have already given that promise to another, Captain Faramir. My kinsman, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who swore the same oath to your brother as he died..." Faramir turned his head sharply to look at her. She gave the slightest smile to him, the smallest curve of her lips. He looked away his sad mouth forming sad words.

"Boromir, my brother..." they were spoken gently, with the reverence of a younger brother. Sad was his tone, and painful to hear. She thought suddenly of Anádor, far away. Alone. She wondered how he fared. Did he grow better? She feared he did not.

"My own brother lies wounded, far away. He may be dead. I do not know what has become of my parents in the north, or... or my betrothed." She did not know she spoke until the words were gone from her lips. They hung upon the air between them. Faramir looked at her again. She looked away she could not meet the kindness and pity in his gaze, but her eyes turned not to the darkness of Mordor. Rather she looked back, at the tower of Ecthelion which stood high above them. Its windows were like dark eyes, which watched her with malice. She felt a heat in her skin, something dark lurked behind those dark windows.

"Your father. He spends his time in the tower, does he not?" Faramir turned as well, looking up at the tower.

"They say he bends his will against Mordor from the tower." She looked up at him questioningly. He gave a small shrug. "I have not been within the chamber at the top since I was a small boy." She looked back at the windows again. She could feel its presence, and the darkness that lurked within, it was in that tower what drove the Lord Denethor to darkness. Faramir turned away from the brooding tower, to look east, where he would soon be going.

"The city is afraid." He said darkly. "The people's courage is failing; they have lived beneath the shadow too long. I fear they cannot stand against it any longer..." His words were as dark and despairing as those that hung upon the thoughts of his father.

"You must hold to hope, as must they." But even as she spoke she saw it in her mind, he was lying under darkness and shadow; he would fail to restore the outer defences. He turned and saw the expression on her face, and read her thoughts. A sadness passed over his face, but a warmth as well when he saw how moved she was by what she had seen. He stepped closer to reassure her.

"So must we all. And now I must go. My Lady," he bowed to her. "it has been an honour, and I thank you for all that you have done and all that you will do to defend my people." Behind them they heard footsteps upon the flagstones, the Lords of Gondor had gathered nearby, all looked concerned as they spoke quietly amongst themselves. Faramir nodded to them and then passed them by. The other lord's stood still and silent, looking at her as he passed into the darkness of the tunnel. More than one was surprised to see tears upon her face, as she watched Faramir take his leave of his city.

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Anária sat against white stone in a corner of the plateau of the White Tree. She had found her battle robes sponged clean from the battle and retreat the day before. Her armour felt heavier than ever before, all around her a black pall of despair hung over the city. Far below the knights of Gondor passed out onto the Pelennor black pennants snapping in a hot wind that buffeted the city with dark clouds; nearby a Hobbit's voice rose in plaintive song in a cold hall.

She closed her eyes, her mind wandered in a green forest, in a dream she had had upon the plains of Rohan, she saw herself; a maiden with long hair held back by a circlet of flowers and a gown in palest silver with a girdle of flowers. She was in a peaceful place with flowers and trees, surrounded by songs and laughter. Someone caught her in their arms, tall and strong, she was held fast by arms clad in silver robes. She looked up and saw a smiling face, blue eyes dancing in the sunlight.

Great trees overhead and under her feet pale yellow elanor and sweet scented white niphredel bloomed in abundance. She breathed in that scent, sweet flowers and warm earth. And something else, something she had smelt in pillows and when she had last been caught by strong arms. A warmth that was Haldir's alone. And in those brief moments every part of her felt revived. Her fingers moved, sightless, to a small inner pocket. Without looking she withdrew a little Lembas wrapped in a soft green Mellorn leaf and broke off a piece. She ate it slowly, and with relish. And when she opened her eyes it seemed to her colour had returned to Minas Tirith.

She thought of how she had seen as it had been a few moments before, cold and pale with dark shadows against every white wall. And now she saw it afresh, she saw the fear in the eyes of the guards and so she stood and walked to where they stood about the tree. She turned on them a warm look, and to each one she passed by she placed a hand upon their shoulder. She spoke to them, but words she used she did not know. And as she passed through each level she paused and spoke to a person or guardsmen here and there, and each one felt somehow a little better. What it was that caused their hope to renew none of them would ever know. But far away there was one who knew.

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Elrond looked into Galadriel's mirror. He saw flashing images of battles whose outcome was yet to be decided, and then another image. A fair faced young woman in red robes and silver mail, her face radiated hope and contentment, he watched as she passed an faces turned to watch her. He saw the look in her eye and he knew what it was that gave her such strength. Blind hope did not engender such, but hope and courage when blessed upon one with a will such as Anária's could affect others of weaker will and so the people of Minas Tirith were uplifted.

But he also saw another power at work, he turned, behind him sat Haldir, the wounded Captain of Lórien had changed, a light had been lit within him that Elrond had not known would happen. He felt the slightest hint of a smile tug at his lips. The warden and the ranger. He had seen she should go south, but this end he had not foreseen. He knew her power could grow, and she could become a beacon of hope amongst men. But now he understood why she felt that hope. She was in love, a love that gave her the heart to confront any darkness the world could throw before her. Like Aragorn she carried with her the blessing of love.

Galadriel was smiling too, her eyes lit from within.

"Hope is not lost Elrond, not while hope exits in the hearts of men. And Elves." She added. Haldir looked between them, and he understood. She reproached Elrond for his doubt, hope remained amongst men because they had been given hope. Hope was the gift of the children of the Dúnedain.

Anária stood upon the walls when Faramir was returned, she stood above the gate and saw his pale face pass beneath her, for a moment her heart was sore for him, for his bravery and his loyalty. But it passed from her, replaced by cold fear as she turned her eyes to the army approaching, she looked away, watching as Faramir's body was placed upon a stretcher and was carried to the citade. After a moment she turned back to Captain of the guard, enquiring about the cities defences and what arrangements had been made for the coming siege. She felt unnerved when she saw women and children still in the lower level. But the Guard Captain pointed out that if the bottom levels defences, which had never been breached, were lost then Minas Tirith would fall.

She looked out over the plain. Dark phalanxes of Orcs and Trolls were approaching, with siege engines and towers pulled by evil creatures hideous too see. Cave Trolls, she could hear the distant pounding of drums, and a rumble which was in the earth. She looked briefly to the north, a part of her hoping in vain to hear the horns of the Rohirrim but she knew it was too soon. Suddenly a fell voice cried out from above.

"Abandon your posts! Flee! Flee for your lives!" Around her the guardsmens faces fell, some sobbed in fear and others began to edge away, their despair taking hold of them. Before she could speak any word, for indeed she too had been affected by that dread cry, another voice called out, full of power and command.

"Prepare for battle!"

Anária drew her sword.

"To the walls sons of Gondor! Defend the walls!" she called. She looked down at her blade, already she felt a flicker of silvery light in it. Darkness however hung in the very air above the city. A pall she doubted even the gift of Galadriel could dispel. When Gandalf came to the area near the Gate she moved along the wall, back and forth speaking words of courage, imparting what strength of will she could to the frightened men.

She turned to the east the darkness rolled every forwards, and dark creatures were winging towards Minas Tirith, and on their wings they brought a despair even she felt, like a coldness in her very bones.

She set herself back above the gate as the first great stones thudded into the city. Briefly she closed her eyes.

"Valar give me strength." And for a brief moment she smelt it again, elanor and niphredel on the wind, and briefly sunlight upon her skin, a strong arm about her waist. And then it was gone and she was raising up the white bow of Lothlórien, a red fletched arrow of the Galadhrim upon the string...

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Aragorn stood on the prow as the corsair ship passed upriver. Ahead he knew the battle had begun, he knew it somehow. He fingered the handle of his blade. This blade was powerful. He hoped that Glamding and the blade of Anária would be strong enough to keep back the darkness until he could get there. He closed his eyes, darkness was upon the wind. He opened them and stood. The needed to move quicker before the darkness fell over the white city itself...

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"To the gate!" Gandalf was calling, she helped a Gondorain soldier despatch another Orc. Behind him stood an empty siege tower. But the Soldiers of Gondor had much practice over the day of pouring oil upon them and setting them alight. The smoked and burned but could not be reused. Dark soot and grime marked the swaty faces of the men around her.

"Anária! To the gate!" She moved swiftly down the stairs, she joined him on the lower level. So far the battle had been bloody but no great breaches had been made in the defences, though she liked not the sight of the new siege engine which came now at the gate. As tales told the walls had held and despite the siege engines of the enemy pounding them the black stone of the lower level was still intact. Fires raged through some levels, and many buildings had been reduced to ruin. But so far nothing disastrous had happened. She feared that would no longer be the case.

A cry had gone up amongst the enemy, "Grond! Grond!"

Something breached the great gate with fire and a strange heat. A screech of metal and something else, a crackle upon the air. Sorcery!

"You are soldiers of Gondor!" Gandalf's words were rich and strong, a command unlike that which any other voice could give. "No matter what comes through that gate, you will stand your ground!"

The Gates were breached and then they were totally destroyed. Great armoured cave trolls smashed through the breach. Anária sheathed her sword and turned away, she ran back through the men, and found a man handing pikes to several soldiers. She grabbed one of the long weapons and ran back to near where Gandalf was upon Shadowfax, holding the pike low.

Something else had come within the gates while she had turned away, a black creature of evil and sorcery, it stood their, silent but terrible, she felt more than heard its piercing cry. A Nazgul! Some battle passed between it and Gandalf, full of darkness and sparks of bright fire. But Anária had no moment to watch the great battle sorcery, for she faced a troll, it had brushed aside two Gondorians and she stood next to another in its path, she looked over at him briefly and recognised him from the battle at Osgilliath. He lunged forwards, but his pike struck the creature's metal breastplate and with a flash of speaks it was twisted aside. The beast was distracted however, it began a move, a great lunge to grab at the soldier who had struck it.

Anária sensed her opurtunity, and she knelt down as it reached forwards she set the end of her pike in the ground, and the creature in its lunge ran itself onto the pike. It shrieked and thrust out an arm, grabbing her by her robes and throwing her behind it as it scrabbled in pain at the great pike with its other hand. She rolled to her feet unsteadily, her body protesting at being flung into the hard flagstones.

Darkness incarnate was before her, and before she could move or pull loose her sword from its scabbard she was struck by the darkness. It was no physical blow and yet still she felt it, and reeled back, tripping and falling again before the shadow in the gate's arch...

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	9. Chapter 7: And I Shall Fare Thee Well

Into the Starless Night

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A/N: Thank you for reading, and if you have any comments please leave me a review!

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Chapter 7: And I Shall Fare Thee Well

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Distantly she heard a voice, Gandalf: "Anária! No! Run Anária!" but she could not she looked back and was struck again but in a different way; she could not move as strange flickering eyes of red fastened upon her. Far away she heard a voice, many voices. In elvish they called to her.

'Fanoulios... we call to thee..." but it was as though a great storm was drowning out their words. She managed to close her eyes as the darkness was struck afresh by Gandalf, power which blew at her hair and cloak but left her unscathed. Finally she heard the words clearly.

'If ever you are in need or great danger, call upon her...' The warm voice was clear in her thought, she stood again, her footing unsteady. This time she kept her eyes closed as she drew her sword, she could hear no sound of it leaving the scabbard, then she brought it up before her - as though saluting her enemy.

She opened her eyes.

"Elbereth." The word was a whisper, but every ounce of her was in it, and the sword responded in a blaze of white light that momentarily blinded her. Then as swiftly as it had come it faded to a silver light which shone weakly in the darkness. Suddenly she heard him again. Gandalf, ordering her to retreat, they were retreating to the second level.

She went, ushered ahead by soldiers who could see she was groggy, she paused to grab the hand of a child who stood in the street, shrieking, moments later a woman appeared in the darkness and smoke, she was calling something, the boy ran towards her and Anária grabbed the young woman's arm, dragging them amongst the soldiers and townfolk who were fleeing to the next level.

Inside the gate to the second level she found a low wall and for a few moments she allowed herself to rest, her sword flickered and faded as the streets of Minas Tirith filled with unnatural darkness, lit only be a few burning ruins and torches.

"Gandalf!" Pippin was calling, she heard the Hobbit and turned to look at him. "Denethor has gone mad! He is burning Faramir alive!" Gandalf looked horrified, he glanced at where Anária sat, breathing low but steadily, her sword point helping to keep her torso upright. Gandalf's face said it all. She closed her eyes, taking a deep and steadying breath she forced herself to her feet.

"Go." She said quietly, moving past him to stand with the soldiers attempting to brace the gate. She raised her sword, the blade did not shine, it was as dull and lifeless as any other blade. She had no more strength and she feared to call upon that which she did nopt have except as a last resort.

"Stand fast!" Cried the Prince of Dol Amroth, raising up his great blade, which was wide and lengthy, and not so useful in the cramped confines of the street. The Prince waved an arm, half a dozen men with pikes rushed forwards, archers behind, waiting for the cave troll to break the door. Another level and then another they fought, nasty little battles with men falling. They reached another level, Mithrandir rejoined them as they barricaded the door to the fourth level. She turned and moved to where he sat next to Pippin.

"You're unwell!" said Pippin as she all but collapsed against the wall. She had a small cut to one leg, and half a dozen bruises, including one horribly aching one to her side which made it hard to draw breath, on top of which a dark lethargy seemed to have taken hold of her limbs and a dark veil over her sight...

Gandalf was frowning as he looked at her, but soon the battering on the door came and they were distracted.

She heard only dimly Gandalf's words, she wondered if it was true, was there no end in death? She could not think clearly. Her mind spun in a dark haze, she tried to reach for the green images of her dreams, it seemed so long ago she had sat upon the halls steps and dreamt of that beautiful garden, and the warm embrace of Haldir... Haldir... She tried to remember his face, his warm blue eyes, calm and tranquil, and his curving smile. Outside the horns of the Rohirrim had fallen silent, the drums and screeches of the enemy drowning them out.

But there was something else, beyond her eyes, black sails carrying death.

She closed her eyes. The Hobbit was right, this was the end. The end for her at least. Darkness was pulling at her, suffocating her, she could barely draw breath beneath its dark weight.

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Haldir pulled up the grey cloak, gently covering his brothers pale face again. Rúmil, the youngest. Pain and doubt clawed at him as his grief renewed at those pale features, so still in death. He should have done more to protect him! To protect them all. When he had heard of the battle he had been afraid, of what he did not know. Far away to the South Galadriel said Minas Tirith was besieged, there was his love, and closer but just as far from Haldir's protection, his brothers fought to repel the invasion of Lothlórien.

Hot tears fell down his face, he clenched his hands in impotent rage and pain. This loss was too great. Rúmil, little Rúmil. Laughing Rúmil, happy Rúmil. His youngest brother, with the sweetest temper and the gentlest touch to the strings of their mothers harp.

He stood on unsteady feet, and left the place where his brothers body had been laid upon sunlight grass. He walked for a while, he did not know where, if any called to him he did not hear them, if any tried to stop him he did not notice. Far away Anária was in danger, he knew it. He felt it. Yet he could do nought, and his brother. His beloved brother was dead, and he had been able to do nought for him.

He found himself in a little dell in the woods, a small stream curved around a green bank. He fell to his knees, all around was the beauty of the Golden Wood, behind him lay his beloved Caras Galadhon. Yet in that moment he saw no beauty, only death. He fell to his knees, he saw again he face, the blood upon it as in the darkness of Helm's Deep, he saw his brother, lifeless and pale. All those Elven bodies trampled by Uruk-Hai, their pale faces still fair in death, eyes wide and staring as though in a reverie.

"Stand Captain." It was command in his ear and his mind, but he paid no heed to it for he could not. He was caught in all the deaths he had seen, those who had had held in his arms as they passed. He could see them all. There had been too many. Too many had died. He closed his eyes to the beauty around him, it could not soothe him now.

"Stand Captain of Lórien!" the voice was behind him but he did not turn to look, nor pay any attention until a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

"All will be well my Captain. Stand." His legs obeyed her words, he turned to look at her, his face streaked with tears and his heat shattered by grief.

"Death is not an evil Glorlaus." His father-name was a shock to him, he remembered the last time he had used it. An oath in a dark room beneath Helm's Deep. "You must come, Orophin is wounded. He asks for you." At that he turned, following her silently back to CAras Galadhon, and the hall of healing.

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Anária felt warmth on her face. Sunlight, and around her the battle was silent. She took a deep breath, it hurt, she struggled with it, so difficult it seemed she knew not how to breathe. Her eyes slowly opened, for a brief moment the light dazzled her, high above the sun was shining down on Minas Tirith. She found herself attempting to stand, a Gondorian lent down to help lift her up, she recognised his proud face. The Prince of Dol Amroth, with a cut upon his face where his helm had formerly been. She said no words of gratitude for she could find none. He was leading her down, and down again, they stumbled together over creatures and men alike, twisted together in death.

Then they were standing without the twisted wreckage of the once beautiful gates and her companion moved away, making his way among the dead. She had no desire to. She saw a green and sickly fog upon the field, and then realised there were figures within it. She blinked and a great wind seemed to pass over the smoky field and the pale figures were gone. The dead had left the living and the bodies upon the field, no trace of their ghostly presence was left.

She stumbled forwards, she saw a black banner with a silver device. She knew that device, it was a sign, the King had returned to Gondor. A smile almost broke lips as she stumbled slowly towards that banner.

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"Aragorn – look!"

Aragorn looked at the pale figure approaching him. Anária's face was pale against her blood red robes which were torn and streaked by orc blood and filth, black grime upon her pale face except where two pale tracks from tears had made their way down her cheeks. He could see some harm was upon her. As she came closer he searched her form for an injury that caused her paleness. But he could see none. He frowned and moved towards her, behind him he heard Elladan call her name.

"Anária!" Elrohir passed them both as he rushed towards her. Her sword, black with orchish blood fell from her fingers and she stumbled another step before falling fell to her knees. Elrohir reached her just in time, reaching out to pull her into his arms. Elladan and Aragorn rushed to them. He knelt next to her, his hand reaching out to touch her face, it was pale and cold, darkness was upon her brow. She looked up at him.

"Where is the light, My Lord?" her voice was light as a feather. Gandalf approached, leaning upon his staff, his eyes clouded with grief. Elrohir was running his hands over her robes. He met Aragorn's eyes and shook his head.

There was no wound in her flesh, this illness was of another nature.

"Take her into the city." Said Gandalf, his voice hoarse. They stood, Elrohir cradled her in his arms, and Elladan took up the sword and they passed into the ruins of Minas Tirith. As she went she looked back at Aragorn, her eyes were dark, but he knew she saw him, briefly she reached out an arm for him and then all was night...

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	10. Chapter 8: Those Who Are About to Die

**Into the Starless Night**

**A/N: **Apologies for the long delay. Too much real life not enough time for writing. But hopefully I will now have this story finished by Christmas!

Thanks to all the reviewers who have supported this story during the time it hasn't been updated! This is a much slower chapter dealing with the aftermath of the battle. Next chapter will be up in about a week or so. Hopefully! Thanks again for your patience!

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Chapter 8: Those Who Are About To Die...

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Darkness was upon the Houses of Healing when Aragorn took up his kinswoman's hands. He ran his thumbs over her pale hands, as he had done in Edoras he reached out for her wandering soul, lost in darkness and fading from the world. She was not lost in any hiding place of her own construction this time, this was the dark shadow of the Witchking.

He whispered softly to her, drawing her back into the light, she came swifter than the others he had tended, as he knew she had resisted more, lasted longer. Her spirit was stronger than theirs; it had seen a greater darkness than the Witchking of Angmar.

Her eyes fluttered and opened, her grey eyes looking up at him.

"Aragorn?" she asked, her voice was soft and hoarse, like fingers brushing parchment.

"Yes. I am here." He said, smiling down at her. She smiled back, tentatively. Behind him the sons of Elrond approached. He himself stood. Dawn would light Minas Tirith soon, he needed to be gone by the time that happened and so he stepped away, releasing her hand. He smiled at her briefly; she needed no words from him. As he withdrew the two half-Elven brothers sat next to her, whispering softly in their own tongue, their blue eyes bright with emotion.

"You had us gravely worried little one." Elrohir was saying softly. Anária was looking up at him with grey eyes that were tired, haunted and with dark shadows beneath them. The twins waited with her while she slept in the morning, in the middle of the day they helped her up. Elladan found her saddle bags and they brought her to the Hall of the King. She bathed and dressed in her dark green dress, her dark hair bound back. As she moved through the palace those she passed automatically bowed whether Lord, Lady or servant. As she approached, the guards saluted her as she passed beneath the into the courtyard of Minas Tirith, the dark tree stood silently, its guardians nodded their heads as she passed them. She walked to the very tip of the precipice to look down upon the ruins of the city.

Far below on the plains great pavilions had been set up, there she knew counsel was being taken. But there was something else she felt was needed. She looked behind her at the dark eyes of the tower, brooding in the sunlight.

* * *

Anária entered the pavilion with a black bundle in her arms. Aragorn turned from where he stood over a map, the Prince of Dol Amroth fell silent as she entered. Aragorn waved a hand. The other counsellors bowed.

"A few moments please, gentlemen." The others passed from the pavilion. She nodded to the Lord Eomer as he passed. She saw great respect in the inclination of his head and his expression.

"I know what that is." Said Aragorn, inclining his head towards the bundle in her arms.

"This is the Palantír of the White Tower. I think it will show you many dark things, but you may show it something as well." He nodded. She set it upon the table, it made a heavy thud as she placed it there. She bowed and withdrew. Outside a gentle breeze from the river was attempting to carry away the scents of battle.

Eomer-King stood just nearby, he stepped away from the Captains of Gondor and bowed to her.

"My Lady, you seem to have recovered well." She smiled a little at him, but he did not return it, his face was sad and grieved. "My sister sadly does not share your good fortune and is still not entirely recovered." She nodded.

"From what little I have seen and heard I fear it is not only the Black Breath that haunts her steps." He looked at her sharply, frowning in a fierce way. She smiled gently and reached out her arm to lay her hand upon his arms that were crossed over his chest. "I know little of it, but I have seen her pain. I do not dare to presume to know the cause or have any answers." He nodded, the fierceness of his stance melting.

"She has long been afraid to live in a dark shadow I fear." He said softly. "I thought... When I found her I thought she was dead. And when I found her to be alive I hoped that shadow might also have passed from her but I fear it has not. And now that I am..." His soft words drifted away, his eyes looked at once both gentle and fierce. She squeezed his forearm slightly, to show she understood what he had not said.

"We all grieve for your losses My Lord. Theoden was a mighty King. He will be missed." He looked away, clearing his throat. Clearly uncomfortable both with her words and with his own feelings. She too looked away, allowing him to reach up a hand to wipe at his face.

Suddenly behind her she felt an oppressive weight, the wind died and the voices of the men around them fell silent. All eyes turned upon the pavilion.

Anária looked away briefly, to meet Gandalf's eyes, the Wizard nodded to her gently, his eyes were not merry but sad and ancient.

After a moment the wind picked up again. The heat and crackle in the air faded and all seemed to let out a collective breath.

When they entered the Aragorn's back was bent, he was leant over the table, his hands spread out before him as though to stop himself collapsing onto the map of Mordor. He finally looked up, focusing on Gandalf.

"He will take the bait now... He has seen the Heir of Isildur bears the sword of Elendil. Frodo has his chance." Gandalf nodded. Aragorn raised his voice to the others who were standing just inside the doorway.

"Prepare the army. Tomorrow we march on Mordor." The Captains about the table exchanged glances, swiftly they departed. Aragorn motioned his kinswoman forwards, Anária stepped close, she could see in his eyes what the battle with Sauron had cost him, she could see the years it had taken from him in just a few brief moments. He reached out a hand, cupping the side of her face, his thumb brushing at a single tear that was passing down her pale cheek.

"I will not be with you, will I?" she asked, she could see it in his eyes. He shook his head silently.

"If we should fail... If Frodo should fail, and Sauron regain the ring flee to Lothlórien. If you should make it there the Lady may be able to protect you and Anádor. There may be some hope for a few to reach Valinor. I do not know what hope that is but you must hold to it." She felt her stomach twist and knot, sobs choked her throat and tears fell bitterly down her cheeks, she felt faint. He sensed it and his arms were about her, he cradled her against him; one hand stroking her hair. He had held her thus when she had wept as a child, so had the Lord Elrond and his children. Her family of Imladris who had cared for her could be destroyed in this darkness and now was the moment she felt most lost. She could do nothing; she was bound to obey him. So she would remain in Minas Tirith and wait, and pass into the West if she must. If the Valar permitted, and the Lady of Lothlórien had the strength to keep them safe...

Finally he released her, stepping back he brushed at her face with a gentle hand. "Do you remember when you woke in the night as a child, and came rushing to me? You would cry and sit on my lap for many hours. And when you fell asleep again you would have such a tight grip upon my clothing that I had no choice but to sleep where I was?" he asked her gently as he prised her fingers from where they had rung at his shirt. She nodded, wiping away the rest of the tears from her face.

"You made me feel safe Milord." He smiled again, a bitter smile.

"You have no need of me to be safe Anária." She nodded again and stepped back, standing straight once more, her face was pale with tiredness and he saw that she trembled, but still she stood straight and as strong as she could.

"Until Captain Faramir is recovered I believe you will be in charge of Minas Tirith. Keep the people calm, make ready for an evacuation if needed." She nodded again.

"I might send some of the people south, they might be safer in those cities not already breached." He nodded, his face showing his pleasure at her quick thought. "And rather than repairing the main gateway to the citadel, I think it is the final level of the city that needs to be strengthened. Therefore the lower levels citizens must be sent south or found accommodation in the Lord's halls." He nodded again.

"I leave the arrangements to you, though I hope they may not be necessary." She nodded. There was a gentle silence. He reached out again, a final brush over her hair, and then he settled his hand upon her shoulder.

"Arwen has a dress like this." He said softly, looking at the simple cut of the layers of dark green. She smiled.

"It was a gift from Galadriel." The distant look in his eyes did not change as he nodded.

"I wish I could see her again... I wish..." He fingered the silver jewel that hung around his neck, It seemed duller than she remembered it being when she last saw him. "She is mortal. If we fail she will fade. She stayed... When I asked her to leave. I feared this moment, I feared her passing." She took a deep shaky breath.

"I too feared what love for me might cause Haldir to do. But then he said something and it comforted me." Aragorn turned his head, to show her he was listening. "He said that death was not the end for him, and if he lost me, either by my death or by his leaving he would still fade." She said the words softly, she could see his face in the cold morning air, the earnest way he looked when he leant close to her to speak, they way he emphasised his words by holding her tighter.

"He told me not to dwell on the darkness but to believe that we would meet again. And I do not believe that the Palantír spoke the truth." Aragorn looked up at her, his eyebrow raised at her words.

"The Palantír may not, no. But Elrond did. She is mortal." Anária nodded thoughtfully, she took a step away, as though to leave. But then she paused, looking back at him with some thought in her mind.

"And if Frodo succeeds and all our hopes come true you may live out your mortal lives together. That is not so terrible cousin. It is no more nor less than we humans do every day." Aragorn looked at her, saddened by her rueful yet ironic tone. There was a smile of mischief and yet of contentment upon his young kinswoman's face. A strange mix indeed, and yet there it was. Again he smiled, she was no wise-child any longer, but a wise woman.

"So they do, wise one. So they do."

* * *

Somewhere in the palace a black gown embroidered with silver had been found, it was hefty and dark, a silver circlet and black veil that covered her bound up hair had been set upon her head. In silence she stared at her reflection, she looked like a widow, as she turned her head she saw the silver-white mark of the scar on her forehead. She remembered the explosion at Helm's Deep and for a moment she was there, in the darkness of the keep, and Haldir's pale face was beside her in the mirror.

Anária closed her eyes against the darkness and her own visage. She loathed the heavy dress and its dark weight seemed to drag at her, but this was the sombre tone she knew she must set, a stranger to rule a ruined and traumatised city. She fingered the heavy fabric of the gown wondering what fine lady had once worn it. She suspected perhaps the last queen of Gondor, but she knew not.

She looked back at her pale face in the mirror and remembered the leaving of the Golden Wood. For a moment she saw Haldir in that warm room. He had rested his hands upon her shoulders, looking down at her, and as she turned to look at him she had seen a glimpse of his face, that gentle but warm expression. She felt a shiver pass over her. He was sad. She felt it in her bones, he was in pain. She felt a tremor of fear run through her. She wished she could hold him, she wished she could take away his pain. Something terrible had happened to Haldir. She wiped at a tear that had escaped her eye and was coursing down her pale cheek.

Slowly she turned away from the looking glass and the sad pale woman it showed her. She stepped without her rooms. The sons of Elrond stood in the corridor, clad in silver and black, they had swords belted to their wastes and silver circlets upon their stern brows.

Anária had never seen their laughing faces so sombre, she attempted a slight smile but neither responded.

"Come, we will be late." Said Elladan softly. They walked through the great white halls of the palace, their steps echoing eerily through empty halls. When they stepped without she saw the Captains of Gondor before her on the steps. With a company of palace guard and the King of Rohan. Eomer was the first to bow, followed by the Princes and Captains of Gondor. Two small Hobbits moved forwards and bowed to her, she looked down at them, the golden haired one, Merry, was pale but walking, such strength was in these little men! She bowed her head to them and the assembled nobles, then she moved slowly down the steps, the early morning was cool but bright the sun had risen above the haze of Mordor, which had retreated back to the mountains of its boundaries. It lurked there upon the horizon, baleful, watching.

She walked by the dead tree and it guardians, and down into the streets which were already cleared. Slowly she traversed each level of the city, flanked by the lords of Gondor who were well enough to stand, two small Hobbits and two Elven princes. As they went the people came after them, joining in a sombre procession through the city, until at last they passed out of the great broken gates and onto the Pelennor.

She walked straight to where the Riders of Rohan and the bulk of her cousin's forces stood waiting, seeing the approaching procession she saw one duck into the tent and within a few minutes Aragorn emerged. His tunic was black, with a Silver Tree upon it.

He stood still, waiting for the crowd to settle. He heard their whispers, the words 'The king has returned, it is true.' He raised his hands to quiet them.

"People of Minas Tirith, the Battle of the Pelennor has ended. You are safe, for now, but we must go on, into Mordor, we seek to draw out our enemy, to face him once and for all." His voice rang out, strong and true but he saw the discontent in their faces, they had lost a king to Mordor before he knew; the last of that line.

He tried to smile a little, to reassure them.

"We go not for vanity, or in anger. But for the peace of our lands. No more must Mordor threaten us, no more! And if we must perish in the name of that hope then that may be our path. But we may strike such a blow that we may need fear no more the darkness of the east." Now they were more positive as hope, which had long been gone from their hearts, returned a little. Like the first moments of spring, and it seemed warmer, and the sun a little brighter.

"Until your Steward is recovered I leave my kinswoman, Anária Dúnedain, to watch over you and care for you. I ask, on behalf of those Lordly men here assembled with whom I took counsel on this matter, that you give her your support. And we hope to see you all, upon our return." There were no cheers, no calls of support. The walking wounded looked grave, the women sad but hopeful, the children watched with wide eyes.

He nodded to Anária, she bowed her head. Gandalf stood to one side, his eyes twinkling gently. He knew that men had come into their own, if only hope could remain a little longer, and Frodo remain strong... If only.

Then men would take their place in Middle Earth. An age of men, led by the Children of Númenor. It was a moving thought for the ancient Wizard and he bowed his head a moment.

Wind tugged at the black veil set over her hair which was bound with black ribbons in the Gondorian way, and pulled at the heavy fabric of the dress. In the far distance she watched the column moving into the far distance.

She turned away, looking to the north-west, where the sun was slowly heading. She could still feel the throbbing pain in Haldir's heart, he was so far away. She wished she could flee this place, rush to his side. A part of her desired that above all else. To be with Haldir, feel his arms around her, to be reassured by his presence.

She heard the sound of soft steps behind her.

"They are waiting for you." She turned around, looking sadly at Elrohir. Aragorn had not even waited for this moment. Halbarad was being set in the stone vaults of the Kings and Stewards. Outside the civilians were working to set on fire the great piles of bodies made of the enemy dead. She took his hand and he led her into the cold darkness of the King's tombs, past the blackened room where Denethor had wished to die, and beyond. She stood quietly amongst the dead, as they laid away the bodies of warriors and lords alike in cold vaults of stone. She murmured quiet words when she met with widows, and looked down at the pale sad faces of their children. She murmured and murmured those words of comfort till she felt her voice would give out, her limbs were numb, it was so dark, and everywhere the stench of the dead.

She was not sure how she returned without, the sunlight dazzled her, and the fresh cool breeze refreshed her, she found that the twins stood close on either side of her, moving her gently with almost imperceptible movements, fingers pushing and pulling her towards the Great Hall. They led her into her room. She felt them sit her down, one twin wiped away stray tears from her pale face and the other gently undid her hair. Elrohir called for the maids and they came in, the brothers left her in their care, she was undressed, another warm bath. Then the brothers returned, they laid her down in white sheets, rest the twins ordered, it was not yet sunset but she slept easily, falling into grey and troubled dreams where she saw Haldir weeping and alone.

* * *

Haldir stood still and silent beside Orophin, and had he not breathed it might be thought that he was carved from stone. They were both paled by grief, but where in Orophin the grief was tempered by youth and life, in the Captain it was dark indeed, she knew what he felt. Her Captain, Galadriel knew, saw only grief in his path, his hope was fading as the darkness grew stronger. He knew his love lived, but for how long? She had seen his vision in the mirror, Aragorn had left the city, and he had left Anária there, her pale face had hovered in the bowl black vveils whipping about her as she walked through the rows of the dead sons of the white city.

The city would fall if Frodo did. And there could be no stopping it. There could be no hope for Anária. Elrond stood quietly to one side, his blue eyes met Galadriel's. Sadness was reflected there. Both felt the pain of the Captain, and shared it. Anária was as much a child of Elrond's house as his true sons and daughter, and now all were in peril. In the west Arwen lay beneath the fading trees of the Last Homely House, in the east the twins watched over a frail young woman watching over a city that stood upon the very edge of doom.

They both looked towards Haldir as he moved forwards placing a wreath of pale grey flowers upon the pale chest of his brother, who lay now in fine silver robes upon the place his choosing. The pale grey flowers emitted a subtle fragrance, a scent of subtle warmth. Sindiel they were called, sad little flowers that grew in dark hollows and beneath other larger blooms. Galadriel felt a sorrow as she looked at them. They spoke of life unfulfilled, of a life cut short and hidden. She looked up at Haldir's face as he looked down at the wreath, bitterness she saw lurking there, in the corners of those proud eyes and around his normally gentle mouth. As Haldir walked past her he did not pause, or bow, his face was streaked by tears. His pain and regret was thrumming through the gathering like thunder as he led it from the resting place his brother had chosen.

Galadriel watched him walk away into the dusk, the haunting words of a lament hanging upon the night air.

* * *

Anária woke to smoke drifting through the window, it filtered past flowers and pale silvery curtains. She slipped out from under the heavy grey sheets, her feet touched the cold stone floor. She felt a shiver run up her spine, cold tingles chasing across her skin. She closed her eyes, sunlight filtered through the grey curtains with the smoke. It was putrid, but she did not smell it, she thought of instead of green forest floors, and small white flowers, with little yellow ones amongst them, dark shadows chasing each other across sweet clearings where fresh little streams tumbled over rocks like children, laughing and splashing.

She heard the soft noise at the door but made no movement to answer it. She heard and felt the two serving women come in, without a word they cast her a wide berth. Their eyes met as they looked at the pale young woman who sat on the edge of the bed, still and silent except for the faint stirrings of her dark hair brushing against the grey linen of her smock.

They passed into the next room and all was still around her again. He heart slipped between the trees, silent as the shadows which hid him from the sun's rays. He did not pause nor consider his path he walked it swiftly, through green boughs. He paused only once, he looked back at her. And she felt his pain. The gravity of his pale face as he looked back at her tore at her soul. She reached for him. After a moment he looked away, and then he continued his, further and further into the forest...

Anária opened her eyes and looked out the windows, the acrid stench of the burning corpses of Mordor's army reaching her at last. The cold stone had made her feet so cold they almost felt numb. But she wasn't numb.

The two servong women came back to find her still sitting in the same place, the only change was the traces of tears upon her pale cheeks.

* * *

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	11. Chapter 9: The Watchful and Waiting

**Into the Starless Night**

* * *

Chapter 9: The Watchful and the Waiting

* * *

"Haldir?" The voice slowly intruded on his thoughts, he took a deep breath looking up from the nondescript patch of moss which his eyes had been settled upon. "My Lord Haldir?" He turned his head at last, acknowledging the young elf maid who called his name so urgently, so uncertainly. He looked and at her, he could see she found no comfort in finally having his attention.

"My Lord..." she began again. "The Dúnedain Anádor has asked for you my lord, can you come with me?" he inclined his head, standing fluidly, his side barely even aching any longer. The physical wounds of Helm's Deep had faded, but now a greater burden lay upon him.

He tried to banish the dark thoughts that had plagued him since his brother's death, he knew they were a darkness he must shake off, but his grief was too deep. And he feared the next blow, he could feel it coming, in this short breath before the final assault. And then. And then she would be gone and the world would fall into darkness. Or.

Or they would succeed against all odds, two little hobbits would find their way through Mordor and Anária would live and still it would all end. In a short time, less time than he could ever desire she would fade. The softness of her cheeks would hollow, and grey would streak her dark curls, and then he would hold her as she left this world. And what future was that? Did he still believe in his heart that a new day could dawn? And if it did would he have the heart to watch his love fade before his eyes until she was gone? And then pass himself... What of children? What of the children of such a union, what would their future be...

He shook his head absently as they came into the clearing before the Hall of Healing. Haldir followed the elf maid within, passing into the light room where Anádor was still recovering from his wounds. Anádor was sitting by the window his face still pale, but his eyes had a little strength to them. Haldir bowed to Anádor slightly. And took up his usual chair, near the foot of the bed.

"My condolences, I was told of your... loss." Haldir nodded his head, a little less graciously than he could have, but he did it all the same. He could help it, his heart still burnt, his mind reeled. Every reminder of Rumil's absence made him yearn for his presence all the more.

"My friend... May I call you that?" Anádor asked. Haldir felt a little spasm within. Yes he wished that, but even more. That the pale young Dúnedain might reach out an arm, clasp Haldir's and call him brother... But Haldir did not speak, only inclined his proud head again, with more grace and ease.

"My friend..." The Dúnedain began again with a soft voice and searching eyes, and as he spoke the tendrils of fear, guilt and pain began to release their grip on Haldir's heart...

* * *

Far to the South that day Aragorn's host came upon the Morgul Vale. In the remains of the White City Anária sat upon a dark throne beneath the seat of the King, conferring with her council and giving out orders. Long into the night she stayed with the councillors of the city; watched over by two dark-cloaked Elven Lord's.

And under a dark and threatening sky, two little men walked ever on, towards Barad-Dúr...

Three days more and a rider set out for Minas Tirith, his eyes alight with news.

* * *

Eowyn sat quietly with Anária, neither lady felt the need to speak. It had been four days since the great army had left Minas Tirith, and they feared and hoped in equal measure that word might reach them of the battles and adventures of their kin. But as yet no word had come. But neither spoke of their fears and hopes. Anária's slim hands held a darkly bound book which was in an Elvish tongue. She had read a little of it aloud to Eowyn that morning. But the Shieldmaiden of Rohan found she could not concentrate on her hands work, her mind became too distracted by the haunting Elvish words.

Now her hands moved quickly though. Cutting and folding bandages of different sizes, and setting them in a wicker basket which sat beside her on the bench.

Anária suddenly looked up, then she stood, gathering her dark gown in her hands she took rapid steps across the courtyard to the arches that gazed east. Her eyes scanned the horizon.

"What is it?" asked Eowyn, concerned as her companion stood upon the very edge of the garden. Eowyn stood and went to her, touching her shoulder, but the young woman did not feel it nor turn, her eyes were gazing into the far distance, at some scene Eowyn knew she saw in her heart.

"What do you see?" asked Eowyn again, taking her young friend by the shoulders she turned her and looked into eyes that were blankly staring into a distance Eowyn could not see.

"Anária!" she exclaimed, shaking the dark haired woman's pale shoulders. Finally, slowly her eyes focused on Eowyn, just as tears began their way down her cheeks.

"They have passed beyond my sight. I can see them no more, the eye of the enemy is upon them and my sight is still. I cannot feel them, I cannot feel my King." Eowyn cocked her head to one side, frowning.

"Your sight?" she asked softly.

"I could feel them, their presence. I could see them, not a coherent thought or picture, not a vision. A sense. Like you can sense a breeze upon your skin. But they have now passed beyond my thought." She closed her eyes, walking past Eowyn to the bench, she sat heavily, as though a great weight was pressing upon her. Eowyn followed her, concerned. She sat still and quiet, her face bearing the marks of tears.

"Gandalf said that he could no longer sense Frodo's presence when Frodo passed into the shadow of Mordor, and now my King and his host have passed into that shadow. Men I have known since birth have gone into that Shadow, and good men. Men of this land. They have all passed into the shadow of the Eye." Behind Anária Faramir came within the small courtyard, accompanied by the two Elven Princes, both of whom looked distressed.

"The battle is about to truly begin." Said Elladan.

"Look." Said Elrohir, and he pointed to the east as a great plume of darkness and red light. Flame and soot, a darkness covering the sky once more, darkening the land to the east of Minas Tirith.

"It is the beginning of the end." Said Faramir, coming to stand beside Eowyn, has face still pale and marked by the dark shadow of the Black Breath of the Morgul lord.

Anária was silent and Eowyn looked at her askance, she did not look well, her eyes had gone distant again, and she could see the darkness had settled around the pale faced northern woman. The twins were speaking to her, their hands brushing at her feather-light, and then they took her away, Eowyn watched her go.

"She blames herself." Eowyn looked at Faramir. "She fears that her kinsman and all his host will fall, and she will bear the blame for their fate." He said softly, he shook his head. Eowyn went close to him, almost touching him, her eyes looked into his and she saw there his own sadness. The he raised his head, turning it to look to the west, and when he looked back at her again he seemed a little brighter.

"We should return within. Come, before the matron seeks us out and chastises us for tarrying outdoors when we should be resting."

Eowyn smiled, he offered her his arm and took her basket as they returned within the houses of healing, their backs to the darkness spreading outwards from the land of Mordor, engulfing everything in a darkness of fume and shadow.

* * *

Elrond and Elrohir looked worried as they left her in her rooms. The darkness of the Witchking had left her sooner than The others who had fallen prey to the black breath, but still its curse lingered, perhaps most especially because she had already been struck down by the greater darkness in the Palantír. Anária lay still and quiet upon the bed in her room, the dark curtains had been pulled away from the unshuttered windows and a gentle breze caressed her skin. The afternoon wore on so very slowly towards evening, she had closed her eyes and her thoughts drifted back to place inside her where she had so newly found the King's presence missing. She felt at that breach, wondering that she had not known the connection had been there to begin with. She groped after him like a blind person, desperately hoping she would find some whisper of him to reassure her that he had not died.

Somewhere in the far off distance she felt a dark heat burring at the edges of her feeling, it was harsh and bright against her thoughts. She felt fire and the smell of ash seemed to choke her, she felt that great darkness was suffocating her thoughts not deliberately, not even knowingly, rather it was her turning her thoughts towards it which caused the distress of her mind. She heard the tinkiling of wind chimes and the gentle murmur of water running past her. She knew that just a breath away was safety. She turned her head, she was lying on the floor of a glen in a bright forest.

"You should rest," said a voice in the light. She lay still, not quite looking at the light. "Do not look for that which is shrouded in darkness, for the Eye is ever watchful and it knows your name." The Lady Galadriel's hand touched her brow. "You should sleep."

"I am afraid..." she whispered into the bright, and flower scented air.

"Do not be afraid of shadows, I will be here, and they will not stir in your mind while watch over you." Galadriel's voice was gently compelling her and she felt her eyes drift shut as she took deep breaths of cool fresh air that smelt of fresh sheets and the cleansing herbs the washer women used to clean them. "Sleep now, your part is done."

* * *

Haldir looked down at the flower in his hand, it was small and white. Niphredel, pure and sweet. It grew here in the Lady's glen around mossy pools that reflected the afternoon sunlight. He had been standing still a long time he knew, reflecting on the warmth of the sun, and the feel of the breeze on his face. It was strange. Each day as he sat and spoke to Anádor he felt just a tiny piece of his grief pass away, the harsh pain was fading slowly but surely. One conversation, one moment of contemplation, each second alone, and each with those who cared so greatly for him lessened his burden.

When he spoke to Orophin now, he could just keep the grief from his voice and his brother was slowly losing the haunted pain around his eyes that Haldir knew must mark his own face as well. He wondered if Anária's grief for those who had passed away had struck her yet, if even the shock and pain of Anádors wounding had struck yet. He wondered at her ever being able to leave her brother's side, he wondered how much of that pain and grief had caused the terrible night visions she had suffered from on the path to Helm's Deep. That thought was painful to him.

He wondered, when he dared to let himself think such a thought, if her love for him had been borne out of gratitude for his saving her and her brother. He always shoved that thought aside as it whispered unbidden in his heart. He did not believe that voice, but it troubled him. It had been such a sudden, sharp alteration to his life to love her, and surely it had been no less of a surprise to her that she loved him. He wondered if she regretted binding her troth to him. And if she did he would have to break his own heart to set her free.

In the depths of his grief those thoughts had wormed their way into his heart, tearing at the one bond that kept him fro, being completely struck down by the grief that had hammered at him. Grief not just for his brother but for all those he had left behind at Helm's Deep, grief and responsibility for their untimely deaths. Galadriel said such thoughts were the boon of melancholy and grief, but that to dwell on them was a path to madness. He knew that. He had known it for centuries. But now. Now. Now he had something so precious to him to lose. He felt as though he and Middle earth both stood upon a precipice. One false move and they would plunge into unending darkness.

He rolled the small flower between his fingers. Pain would fade over time, grief would pass, unless grief after grief piled upon him until his heart could not bear the pain, then he knew he would pass into the Halls of Mandos sorrowing and alone. Above him the breeze sang mournfully in the golden leaves of the mellorn trees, and the Ladies of Galadriel sang a hymn of sorrow to accompany it. Lothlórien was coming to the end of its time, he felt in his very being. Soon his home would be all most abandoned. If they defeated Sauron then those Elves who did not depart with Nenya would leave, and the trees and elves were grieving the end of the heart of Elvendom. The trees would fade with time and one day humans would find their way into the heart of Lothlórien when every last breath of Galadriel's power was less than a breath on the wind. The trees would remember though they would fade from their current glory, they would remember them whyen all else had fallen into dust.

He sighed. It was time for him to seek the comfort of conversation, contemplation had taken his heart back too close to the pain of grief. He turned towards his home, taking the steps without thought. Pausing only briefly at that spot where he had seen Anária and thought of the queens of ages long since past. She had looked so young, and yet he had felt her gaze upon him and he had looked back and something long since discarded had burnt in his very soul. And just for a moment he saw her there, in her red cloak and fine armour, her eyes brimming with emotion and wonder etched in ever line of her face. He closed his eyes. The darkness of his contemplation faded away in the momentary glow of that memory. Haldir took another step, and without his even knowing it, he smiled just a little for the first time in many a day.

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	12. Interlude: The Breath

**Into the Starless Night:**

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A/N:

Well this took a long time didn't it? These have been all but written for some time, but they and the next chapter have been very annoying to complete. dor some reason I hate the endings of stories, they always drive me nuts, with one of my other stories I ended up writing three different endings. I will avoid that here, and there will probably only be three more chapters including the epilogue. As always, please review, there are a large number of people have wither favorited or story alerted this story and have never reviewed, and I would love to hear your thoughts!

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Interlude: The Breath

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As the dark months began to fade and Minas Tirith's streets were slowly cleared of rubble and the rebuilding of enough homes to shelter the people slowly occurred and members of the Dúnedain returned home on the swiftest of Rohan's horses, carrying with them messages for friends and family far away, spring stole over the lands outside of Lothlórien, and elven messengers came intermittently to the great white city, some merely to pass short missives to old friends and relatives, and some to stay, and a party of Elves of Mirkwood, and Dwarves from the north came even as many of the Rohirrim departed the city.

In Lothlórien Haldir devoted his hours to the comfort of the wounded and the training of the young Elves who would become guardian's of the woods in the years to come should they choose to remain a little longer in Middle Earth. Galadriel walked about her realm with a sad face, and all knew that the end was soon approaching, few now would be the years of her remaining amongst them, their time of isolation was ending. Celeborn returned to the city having defeated an orcish army, but he was subdued in the face of impending change. It seemed to Haldir that the whole world had taken a deep breath. As early summer came he led scouting parties up into the hills to the west, even to the very gates of Moria. No sight nor sign did they see there of the dark creatures of Sauron who had lurked in that dark place, but they did not venture within.

When he was freed from his duties his time was occupied helping Anádor as the man slowly began to walk again. Outside and inside of Lórien the spring seemed to last a long slow moment, as though Middle Earth were revelling in the casting off of the dark cold months for summers warmth.

In Minas Tirith Anária too felt the long pause, and slowly day by she felt her own body and soul seem to thaw, gently, slowly, but not surely the weakness of her limbs and temper faded. Her spirits rose, though she was still troubled like many others by the darkness that they had passed through.

Like Haldir her days were filled with the care of others, with helping the displaced and those needing shelter, and the wounded and the orphaned. With drawing up lists of the missing and dead, re-uniting families and caring for those wounded whose recovery still went on.

Word came south, the Lord and Lady of Lórien, and Elrond and hi daughter were journeying from the Golden Wood, and friends arrived from Rivendell, and Dúnedain came out of the north, all to gather at the white tree on Midsummer's day.

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	13. Chapter 10: Midsummer

**Into the Starless Night**

A/N: Almost there! So very very close, just an epilogue to go... Hope you are enjoying this, and please, PLEASE leave me a review...

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Chapter 10: Midsummer

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The sun shone down upon the great crowd, today the air was more festive than it had been for many a year. Even the greybeards could not remember such a festivity, such joy. And so shortly after such terrible darkness had been visited upon Minas Tirith. It was midsummer and now Gondor would not only have a King, but also a Queen! As Haldir looked around he saw the delight and joy on every face he could see as the Elven party made their way up the nine levels. The day before he had stood upon the ninth level and watched the king be crowned, but his eyes had searched the crowd in vain for a dark head of hair. She had been nowhere in sight and now today he feared he would not see her again. He wondered is perhaps she was not present but Legolas had assured him she was, but that she had been spending her time with her parents who had come south in the spring, looking for their lost children.

Anádor was travelling from Lothlórien, still weak, although he had been able to stand by himself and even walk outside under the trees, although he tired easily and seemed unable to do a great deal of anything. His eyes were sore and even reading was a strain and so he had to be read to. Something Haldir had spent some time doing while he too had been recovering from his wounds. All the while both had been distressed and aching to be in the battles to the south. Not for glory or anything so foolish, but because far to the south their thoughts were bent on a dark haired young woman who meant so much to both of them.

The procession was dismounting now. And on foot they walked up the dark tunnel and out into dazzling sunlight. Ahead of him walked Galadriel and Celeborn, before them Elrond and his sons accompanied their sister who wore a white dress and the same silver crown as the day before, her loveliness as dazzling as the sunshine itself. Beside him and behind many other Elves, some from Rivendell and some of the other Elven lands of the north, Legolas and his kin, and next to Haldir walked several of Lord Celeborn's closest advisors. All felt keenly both the joy and sorrow of this day, the leaving behind of the Evenstar was not a day for outright joy, although it was not a day for great sorrow either, as Arwen Undomiel herself all but shone with joy.

Haldir wondered with a heavy heart what those around him who sighed and shook their heads at Arwen, who was already part mortal, would think of he, one of the Sindarin Elves of Doriath that was lost, pledging himself unto a young human who was not a Queen or even a Princess. He feared what they saw as a lamentable loss in the Evenstar would be seen as folly on his part, after all, Anária for all her qualities was not Isildur's heir, nor was she great or powerful. Although from what he heard Aragorn had left her in charge of Minas Tirith's defenses until the Steward, Faramir was able to take up his place again. At least from one person he was guaranteed full support. The Lady Galadriel had spoken with him quietly on more than one occasion, softly telling him no doom did she see in his choice but a great happiness that could be his and which she said he should grasp if he could for he would never again have this chance to love and be loved either in Middle Earth or Valinor.

They were mounting the steps now, passing through the door they found the nobility of Gondor arrayed on either side of a path to the dais where Aragorn awaited his bride. Haldir moved forwards with the others, his eyes scanning the room, as Aragorn's kinswoman she would surely be in the hall, and then he saw her.

Her dark hair was held back by a very simple silver circlet, in the brightly lit hall he could see the scar on her temple from the battle at Helm's Deep on her skin, her gown was pale berry pink with a silver mantle. Something about her raiment gave him pause, she looked almost childlike. In his mind he saw the warrior queen shining with the light of her silver blade. But now she looked so young, barely old enough for her heavy silver mantle. He looked into her eyes as he passed they were cloudy and quiet but she looked back at him steadily enough and he saw the way her lips smiled as he watched her, and then behind her he saw another face, alike to hers but not. Two humans flanked her, her parents he surmised. Both looked strained but joyful, both dressed in sombre greys and blacks.

He was following his Lady and her Lord, as her guardian and protector, he stood just behind her and Celeborn. They stood at the front of the hall for the brief ceremony so he had no chance to look over his shoulder at her. At the end of the ceremony the King and Queen led their citizens and guests to the Hall of Feasts, and Haldir still found himself separated from Anária. She sat with the Dúnedain, whose faces though joyous were still darker and more brooding than hers. Her face was surrounded by hair that had grown a little since the winter, it fell in soft curls past her shoulders, he noticed she sat still and quiet, her eyes met his every time he looked towards her, and she smiled a little but he felt some strain. Some change had been wrought upon her.

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"Anária?" Her mother asked, and Anária knew she had missed something her mother had said. She had been meeting Haldir's eyes across the room. And every time she met his eyes the roar of other voices seemed to fade completely.

"Did you hear me Anária?" her mother asked.

"Sorry mother, I was distracted." She looked back into her mother's face, it was both sad and joyous, a strain was about her face and about her fathers. The strain of a son they feared was crippled, and a daughter scarred and changed from when they had last seen her. But she did not speak much of it. She knew they had more questions. But she could not speak more than she had. Brief words without detail, for how could she speak of the things she had seen?

She fingered the sleeves of the gown her mother had brought with her from home. She would rather have worn one of her Elvish gowns made by the Maidens of Galadriel, or even the heavy gowns of Gondor. This gown was like a child's, sweet, delicate and chaste. After the feast the guests mingled freely around and she managed to slip away from her watchful parents. She moved not towards Haldir, but towards the hall's dark doorway. She paused a moment when Eomer turned towards her and bowed.

"Eomer-King." She returned the bow, he smiled, a genuine good natured smile.

"My Lady." He said, stepping close, she smiled.

"Are you enjoying the evening?" she asked.

"I am indeed milady. Are you?" she smiled and nodded.

"This day is one of the happiest I have known. My King and Queen are joined at last, and they are as they should be. The family are happy."

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Haldir saw her silver mantle moving ever closer to the door, she paused a moment, to speak with Eomer-King, whose eyes also followed her as then moved to the door. She paused briefly and her head turned back, her eyes seeking him out quickly. Haldir moved swiftly to follow her, he threaded through the crowd, his thoughts so firmly on his destination he almost did not hear his name called.

"Ah, Haldir of Lórien." He paused, the Lord of Imladris was standing with two humans whom he recognised, for they were those who had stood beside Anária at the wedding. They were tall and fair, he had seen in their faces a passing resemblance to a face he had seen often recently. As Anádor had recovered Haldir had noted that his resemblance to his sister was only passing, in look she had more of the look of Aragorn, fine and strong and in some indefinable way more Elven than her brother. But these resembled him, their firm brows and grey eyes, and something of the man's nose. And so it was no surprise to Haldir to hear the Lord of Imladris name them as Anária and Anádor's parents, Anáthor and Belraen. In their eyes he could see grief, he knew that the Lady Galadriel had spoken with them that afternoon about the slowness of their son's recovery and he saw that burden upon them.

He bowed to them. At once torn by his previous sense of urgency to join Anária outdoors and by a desire to meet and speak with those who might have some say in the fulfilment of his heart's desire. After the Lord Elrond had made his introduction Haldir murmured a greeting which was returned courteously by Anáthor, but the Elven Lord was surprised by the reaction he got from the lady. Belraen reached out to clasp one of his hands and for a brief moment he wondered if the Lady had spoken to them of more than just their son.

"We have been told, my Lord, how kind you have been to our children, especially to our son. The Lady Galadriel says you have been greatly concerned with his recovery and have spent many hours by his side, keeping watch and company with him through the spring. We are so grateful." Her husband added a few words of his own. Haldir felt his calm to be upon a knife's edge, how could he accept their gratitude when he knew his concern had not been the selfless act they believed? He had sat there as he himself was forbidden any more strenuous activity while he healed, and to keep him away from brooding on the distance between him and his love. He had waited there patiently for hours not for Anádor's comfort alone but to hear even two words about the injured man's sister who every particle of his being longed to be with. He placed his free hand over the woman's and smiled as best he could.

"For my part I believe you owe me no thanks, it is to your daughter that thanks is owed, both on my behalf and on your son's." He looked between the two; both looked caught between bewilderment and distress. They looked towards each other, a look of worry and concern. Haldir felt more than saw the mixture of amusement, concern and fervent interest in the eyes of the Lord of Imladris. Haldir knew he had been Anária's guardian often when she was a child, but the Lord had not in the time he had spent in Lórien or on the journey south with Arwen expressed an opinion or given any true indication of his feelings concerning Anária and Haldir, except one comment to Haldir that he thought Anária was becoming everything she been born to become.

"Pray, what do you owe our daughter?" Asked Anáthor, his concerned words interrupting Haldir's musings on Elrond's thoughts. He remembered her words about how reckless her mother believed her behaviour. How they believed she would bring about her own end by becoming a ranger, something so rare amongst her people that there were bare a half-dozen women who had done as she had. He looked at her mother, he saw there the woman's concern. Her son and daughter were clearly precious to her and the idea that they had been in danger was clearly greatly distressing to her. He thought of Anária's words and heard anew her quiet words in the small room at Helm's Deep that her parents had been loath of her being taken to Rivendell, and then distressed when she had returned as a youth with a sword on her hip and bow on her saddle pommel. Her loss to Rivendell he saw would have been distressing to them, but the thought of losing her completely must have weighed heavily on their minds.

Briefly he told of her saving him upon the wall and how she had tended his wounds after the battle, though he left out that he had been ordering her removal from the wall, and the fear he had felt upon seeing her bloody face, and most especially he left out the words they had spoken to one another in the hour before the dawn when all hope had seemed to fade away.

"It was her bravery, her selflessness and care for others to which both her brother and I owe our lives. Any service I did your son I fear was not done for itself." He left the implication that he had been repaying the debt he owed their daughter for his life as his reason for attentiveness to Anádor in their thoughts. Any further words were not yet for him to speak.

While not a lie it was as close to an untruth as he had come in many years and it pained him that he must keep quiet. He feared that even this could have betrayed his true feelings before he had had a chance to enquire as to whether her own might have been altered in the turn of seasons since they had parted.

Before any more could be said Haldir released the Lady's hand and bowed deeply to all three.

"And now if you will excuse me?" They murmured their consent and farewells and he moved away once more.

He passed finally out into the night air, others had strayed here in the cool of the summer night, mostly though they stood around the pool and the tree, a quick glance told him she was not there, but he did spy her. She stood almost invisible against the dark night at the very tip of the citadel's great rocky outcrop. Her eyes looking East over the plains that were shaded in grey and black under the moon's pale light.

He moved close and although he knew his feet made all but no sound she turned her head, she had expected him.

They stood for a long silent moment, so close that in the cool breeze Haldir imagined he could feel the warmth of her stood next to him. He looked once more with surprise at her raiment. Silver mantled and sleeves with silver thread work, and then the rich berry colour of the over dress, bereft of much adornment though made of finest cloth. To him it seemed not of her choosing, and he realised now why that was. No dress of its like was to be found amongst the women of Gondor or Rohan, in style it was faintly Elven, and its like he just seen in darker grey upon her mother. And as though to match it her inner fire, that which had burned so brightly upon the Deeping Wall was now smothered by the heavy fabric and the sweetness of its cut and colour. He pondered what these changes in her could mean and then after what seemed an age finally spoke, slowly and carefully, observing her every reaction.

"I have met your Father and Mother within. They expressed their gratitude for all I had done for your brother, and seemed surprised by my response that such as I have done, I did not for itself but for you, any reason for which they seemed in ignorance of." She had dropped her eyes from the distant mountains to the fields of Pellenor lost in darkness beneath them.

"You… You spoke to my Ada?" the words were low and he detected a faint hint of sadness in them

"I spoke of the battle, I have asked for nothing, nor will I – ere you tell me if what you pledged at the battle is still your wish, I hope I need not say that it is still my desire…" his words were low, he no longer attempted any semblance of calm, his words dripped with meaning, his eyes were burning into her, beseeching her silently to give him affirmation. When she was silent he stepped closer, he had never felt such pain, all the wounds he had ever received were as nothing compared to the feelings now rushing through him.

"I wish…" She was biting her lip, her voice so quiet no other could have heard it. "My wishes are unchanged." There were no words upon his lips, he felt such joy and lightness that he felt if he cast himself over the edge of the highest tower in the world he would surely float!

He took hold of her hands, turning her to face him fully, gently he lifted them, turning them over he pressed his lips tenderly to each palm before looking up. He heard her breath hitch, but the breath sounded more like a sob than a sound of joy. Her face was lost in shadow, but he could still see a glimmer of something wet upon her cheek, he stepped closer still, lifting her face with a hand so the stars and moon shone upon it, her eyes were glittering with tears, many of which had already fallen down her cheeks.

"Melethril," she closed her eyes at the endearment, "why do you weep?" he asked in his own tongue, concerned as no joy such as what he felt did he see upon her face. She did not speak for a long moment, her hand reached up to cup the hand that cupped her face.

"I weep because I have seen so much pain, and... all those dead men and women... And for what Haldir? Why did this darkness fall? What is it that drove the darkness? I have seen terrible things and so many, so very many terrible things... and dreams..." She shook her head a little. "And my brother, I think of him, the messages of Galadriel spoke of his slow healing... But that the poison has harmed..." He waited silent and almost completely still... "He is harmed, I feel that in my heart, my tall, strong brother, and that wound he took protecting _me_. He saw at once to that pain.

"Your brother himself casts no blame upon you – such is the way of battles. He understands this... In their hearts so do your parents. There will be many like him, to be cared for in the months and years to come." He smiled at her then, his thumbs brushing away the last remnants of tears. "You have seen far more than you should, so much pain and death and for nothing it seems. But think what we have gained, the Eye is passed forever from the lands of Middle-Earth and the peoples have been freed from its burden. That is no small thing melethril..." She nodded a little.

"Also, this pain in your heart will fade, eventually..." He paused. "And I believe we will wait to speak to your ada, may be more inclined to my speaking to them if they have spoken to your brother, and after you have felt a lightening of this burden of pain you feel..." She smiled tentatively, not sure what he meant. "Let those who care for you help you... let us share your pain, trust me, trust us... I know that this pain feels all your own now, but I have found that in these matters trust in others and a sharing of grief will help you to

"My Lord," he raised an eyebrow at the formality of her words. "If all… If all we hope for comes to pass, there is still another darkness we must face." He nodded briefly, but he did not feel any great trouble of that approaching moment, the Lady Galadriel herself said he should not look upon it as a doom, and he would not.

"But you are young, and that time is in the far distance. Do not dwell on that – dwell on this moment." He took her hands once more, speaking the pledge of his people for the second time.

She looked up at him and her smile grew, until it seemed to him the stars must be burning brighter, so much did her face shine. "I pledge this again to you now, when hope has returned not in replacement of the pledge we made in the darkness amidst battle, but as reassurance and reaffirmation of my desires and wishes." She was trembling and he placed his arms around her, she placed hers once more upon his chest, but no longer did they ring his robes in anguish.

"I too reaffirm my pledge to you – I will be yours in time. I also vow to be more patient, and to keep to hope, as you have counselled, My Lord." He smiled, and daringly he bent his head, until his lips barely brushed hers, she trembled anew as he did so, her eyes at first were wide and then as he pressed her closer they closed. And in that instant the entire world seemed to fade from around them. Gently he removed his lips from hers, pressing them gently instead against her brow… In the darkness none saw them there, their grey raiment fading into the dark sky. And so they remained for a time, uncaring as to the doings of the rest of the world.

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As the moon waned they returned within and Haldir watched as she went here and there, greeting Lords of the City who bowed to her and spoke to her with smiles on their faces and he smiled himself. She was soon beckoned by Queen Arwen, and the two spoke quietly for a time, smiles upon their faces. He saw the Evenstar look past Anária, her eyes resting on Haldir, and then Anária turned, the traces of emotions on her face seemed to have faded and suddenly a warm, if slightly trembling, smile broke upon her face as she looked at him.

Arwen smiled at the child she had helped to raise. A woman now, with her dark hair and a face that was no longer so sweetly youthful. Darkness had passed over the young woman who had left Rivendell that spring, and left her warmer and brighter, with wisdom and strength in her gaze.

"I am happy for you." Arwen said softly in her own tongue as she saw the way Haldir watched Anária. Anária smiled in return, but it was not an untroubled smile.

"Thank you Arwen, I am happy for you as well. I have not had a chance to speak to you as yet, I hope we may find some time to talk soon." Arwen smiled again, she reached out, brushing back a wisp of dark hair.

"I too wish to speak with you. So much has happened, you have changed." Arwen said softly, almost regretfully.

"So have you." Anária replied. It was not a physical change in Arwen, it was something else, a change in who Arwen was. She was mortal. Arwen felt it, she felt the seasons turning in a way she never had before. More than ever each moment was precious.

"Ah, my sister and the sister of my heart." Elladan said, bowing to both as he stepped in close.

"What secret words do you whisper to each other?" asked Elrohir, appearing on the other side of them, facing his brother. The three elves and human began to laugh.

"There is no secrecy!" laughed Arwen, the two brothers exchanged a glance.

"Truly?" Asked Elladan.

"We thought you discussed a certain Captain of Lórien!" Added Elrohir.

"Or did we not see you ladies look his way?" Elladan finished, looking between them with a mischievous expression on his fair face.

"Truly you are mistaken, I was saying how different Anária is, or perhaps you do not see it brothers?" The two brothers turned as one to look at Anária, who blushed a little at the intense stares of the three siblings.

"I have not changed so very much! Have I?" she asked, amused by the easy charm of her Elven family, already she thought she felt that lightening of her pain Haldir spoke of.

"If by changed our sister means you have grown even more beautiful..." began Elladan,

"Then yes, little one, you have changed much in our estimation." Elrohir finished with a swift smile.

"You are teasing me my lord!" said Anária, feigning a hurt expression.

"Indeed we do not!" the twins chorused together while Arwen laughed. At her musical laughter the others joined in, they had no choice for when Arwen laughed few could help but to laugh.

"Well, here seems a happy party indeed." Said a warm voice behind Anária, she turned to see Aragorn watching them with twinkling eyes. "What causes such delight, may I ask?" he said with a smile.

"Oh nothing Lord King." Said Elrohir, motioning with his hand.

"Except your sweet ward being the centre of more than one Lord's attentions tonight." Aragorn raised his brows at Elrohir's banter, and looked down at his cousin, she looked a little embarrassed by the twins words, but he could see it was true. Her silver eyes shone with emotions, and her simple pink and silver raiment shamed those ladies of Gondor who wore heavy dresses of complex fabric and make.

"I don't doubt it." The King said solemnly, and reaching out he pulled his cousin close, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. Arwen watched them with a soft expression on her face, she saw one day that the same generosity and sweet love he bestowed upon his younger cousin he might one day bestow upon their own daughter.

For a while it seemed to Arwen that the world had never changed, that dark and terrible things had never happened, her family smiled and were happy, her love was her husband and everything was a joy. Even her father approached, speaking soft and happy words. And Arwen was at peace with the world...

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Arwen slipped into the room in the early dawn, her wedding had been two days gone now and she still felt that deeply peaceful feeling. She passed through the sitting room, her green mantle brushing against the floor, revealing beneath it a pale green shift of lace which also whispered across the flagstones. She opened the door a crack, the room within was silent and still, she slipped within and as she did the bed stirred, Anária propped herself up, blinking sleepily at Arwen. A tired little smile passed across her face, and for a moment Arwen suspected Anária thought it was years before and they were in Rivendell. Then the moment passed and Arwen moved silently forwards.

"Good morning!" she said brightly, sitting upon the edge of the bed as Anária shifted to sit up.

"Good Morning My Queen, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Anária replied, arching a brow, a sardonic twist to her still sleepy face. Arwen laughed.

"I dare say you found more pleasure in your dreams, but I wanted to see you." Anária gave Arwen a strange look, a searching look and then smiled.

"You did?" She asked.

"Yes little one, I did." Arwen cocked her head to one side, considering the best way to broach the subject, She had spoken closely to Aragorn, and even to her brothers and Haldir. The last of whom had been most guarded in his word's. He expected nothing soon. He believed Anária's family might object to a quick marriage. He was patient, he would wait. None of these satisfied Arwen. She had waited. She had waited so long, so little time was left. A century perhaps, if they were fortunate. Not for Anária and Haldir. Anária was only a score of years old, two centuries, or more perhaps, could be theirs, to live in the sweet happiness Arwen felt now that Aragorn was her husband.

"I have spoken to Haldir." She said softly, watching Anária's face.

"Ahh." Anária murmured, looking down at the sheets of the bed, her hands twisting in them. It was as noncommittal a reply as Haldir had made when she first spoke to him.

"Little one, are you sure that he is the one?" she asked, watching carefully, Anária's eyes had no doubt in them as they flicked up to meet Arwen's, nor did her mute nod of the head. Anária looked back down at her hands, frowning a little a she searched for words.

"I am sure. We... We are sure." She said softly, not meeting Arwen's eyes once more. Arwen smiled then, and felt her own emotions fight to break free, she placed a hand over Anária's hands.

"Then you must tell your family." Anária sighed.

"I do not know how to tell them that I am leaving them again. So soon after... And Anádor, they say he is not recovered, that he is unwell. He will need me... and..." her said little voice trailed off as she considered all the obstacles in her path.

"And do you think Anádor will be uncared for by others?" She asked gently. "Did you think there are not others who will care for him if he is ill? Did you think we would not speak for you, and help you?" she asked gently, leaning down to look into Anária's face. "We are your family as well Anária. Always you think you are alone. Always you think you must help others first. I know it to be true." Anária looked on the verge of tears.

"I know... I know I am..." Arwen took her hands.

"It is not pride Anária! Always you say pride, when you should say compassion, and kindness, and selflessness. Always you think you should do more, and ask for less." Arwen tilted up her chin and said softly as tears ran down her face: "When it is we who should ask for less and do more for you, little one." Anária was mutely shaking her head, but Arwen knew she would not fight her any longer. She gathered her close, hushing her tears.

"Say nothing to your parents, when the time is right Aragorn and I shall speak for you." She pulled back, holding Anária by the shoulders.

"And you should go down to the fourth level, to where Lady Galadriel is staying, grandmother wishes to see you today." Soon the maids who came each morning, and insisted on helping her dress arrived, although this morning they were subdued in their chatter because the Queen was there. They still looked at her in awe. Arwen directed them quietly as to which of her gowns Anária's would wear, and which shoes and so on, like she had when she had dressed Anária as a little girl. When Anária had bathed Arwen herself combed her hair, and it seemed to Anária, and her maids, that as those long fingers combed through her hair that its lengths, already long and luterous grew longer before their sight, and then she asked for the ivory comb and combed it with that and it all but shimmered in the early morning light, while the Queen hummed sweetly to herself.

It was like being in Imladris again and Anária felt as though she had gone home as Arwen tied the sides of the light blue sheath over the silver underdress. Anária stared at herself in the mirror. Always next to Arwen she had felt ungainly, and not so lovely.

She did not feel so now as she looked at herself in the oval mirror. She looked rather pretty she thought, and smiled at herself. Arwen smiled at her from behind her, and at a flick of the Queen's hand the maids quietly withdrew.

* * *

Sunlight streamed down on Minas Tirith, here and there signs of the still recent battle were still there, but slowly the city was beginning to be rebuilt. A party of dwarves had arrived, and some off the Elves who had come were also assisting in the re-building of the white city. Some areas were being changed, and garden's placed where ruins had stood, greenery would soon cover the stone she knew, for their green-craft was unlike any this city could ever have known before.

Anária paused outside the grand white house where the party from Lothlórien were staying, the only house in the street in fact which been almost untouched by the battle, and had been restored in preparation for its guests. She passed through the open door into a cool white atrium. Inside an elf turned his head, it was Oróphin. He smiled when he saw her and she could not help but smile back, she had not known he was arrived from Lothlorien! He turned away fully from his thoughtful regard of a small fountain that filled the room with gentle splashing

"My Lady," he bowed before her.

"Oróphin," she began, stepping close and looking up into his face, "Do not be so formal, my friend." She said softly, and pulled him into a hug. She felt his arms close around her and he started to laugh.

"No indeed, old friend." When she pulled back he arched one brow. "Or should I say sister?" he asked with a gentle smile. She felt her cheeks bush and Orophin laughed again.

"I like either dear Orophin." She replied, reaching out to bring him into another hug.

He let her hug him for a long moment and then he let her go. As he pulled back she looked deeply into his eyes and saw the depth of his loss. Haldir she had spoken with the morning after the wedding, and the loss of Rumil had been a cruel blow to his brothers. She knew the depth of their anguish and grief. Her own near loss of her brother made their pain close and real. She touched his arm, and from the way he looked at her she knew he understood that she grieved with him. He took the hand and led her down a corridor.

"My brother and the Lady Galadriel are in the courtyard." He said quietly, motioning to a wide double door on the other side of the fountain.

"Ahh..." Anária hesitated a moment. The door suddenly seemed portentous and a little overwhelming. She gripped Orophin's cool hand. She heard him laugh again and looked up at him.

"And what makes you laugh so?" she asked with asperity.

"Sweet sister your face took quite afright, as though Orcs and Goblin's awaited you and not the Lady Galadriel and your betrothed." She blushed again very prettily and an even louder trill of laughter escaped Orophin. Before them the door opened, Haldir looked at them, his face a mixture of concern and surprise.

"Brother of mine, what have you done?" asked Orophin, his good mood erasing all the dark thoughts that had occupied his mind of late.

"Done, Orophin?" questioned Haldir, with a cool voice, although his eyes and a slight quirk to his lips betrayed his mirth.

"At the mention of your presence your betrothed looked ready to bolt, so I repeat brother: what have you done?" Haldir paused a moment, to glance at his betrothed with a faint smile, for she blushed still, and hid her face a little, betraying her unease with Orophin's banter.

"I will let you know brother, when I do." He held out his hands, stepping into the atrium itself, and wondering whether Anária would respond to his mute entreaty. She did, releasing Orophin's hands she came towards him, her head tucked down and her long black tresses flying at the rapidity of her steps. He almost laughed a little himself when he saw the way she looked up at him with those wide eyes.

He reached out to touch her hair. It was so long and seemed to almost have a glow itself. He shook his head slightly, smiling anew at how truly lovely she looked and embraced her formally, his arms holding her shoulders for only a moment, then he released her and touched the point of her chin with a forefinger. She looked up at him and suddenly she smiled a genuine smile without embarrassment or fear. And he returned it.

Across the room Orophin could almost feel the joy radiating off them and smiled himself.

After a moment Haldir held the door open, and Anária disappeared through it into the small internal courtyard.

* * *

The next morning, the newly arisen sun shone upon the white tree of Minas Tirith and white blossom floated on a pool of cool clear water. Anária held up the sleeve of her gown and trailed her fingers through the water, smiling at the ripples they made. It was still early and few were about save some guards, who now kept their distance from the white tree, watching it but not guarding it so fearfully.

She had been down in the city all the previous afternnon. With the Lady Galadriel, who had made her cry and laugh. Her words of wisdom and kindness as comforting, though more vague as her granddaughters. And the afternoon of the previous day had been spent amongst the re-building and refugees. The women and children who had lost husbands and fathers, the old mothers who were lost and alone. The war was over and yet its pain lingered on, in their loss and in the damage and disruption to the Kingdom which war always caused. The next few years would be spent in re-building not only towns and cities but lives. And some lives she knew could never be repaired. She closed her eyes a moment concentrating on the coolness of the water around her fingers and the warmth of the sun.

She opened her eyes and lifted up a white petal from the surface of the pool. She held it between her fingers a moment, smiling at its sweet feel and in that moment rejoicing that she had there was an opportunity to re-build.

"Anária." The voice was a deep rumble. She looked up in surprise, Elrond stood nearby watching her. She stood quickly, the Elvenlord smiled at her, the gossamer fabric of her dresses pale silver sleeve clung to her dripping hand.

"Lord Elrond," she gave a small but graceful bow of her head, which he returned. "Good morning to you." She added.

"And to you, my child." He replied, he stepped closer, his hands behind his back, finally they reached, out, a hand to take hers. She held out her left hand and he took it in his right, placing his other hand over the top. "Walk with me a while." He said softly.

"Of course." Gently he led her past the grass around the pool, and out to the promontory, they gazed down a little while at the Pelennor, and the turned away, walking along the edge of the great cliff, and looking up at the mountain above them.

They did not need to speak, years of familiarity told them what each other felt, he smiled, she closed her eyes a moment basking in his smile, he gave her a searching look, she became solemn. Gravely he squeezed her small hand between his long fingers. He knew; he gave his consent – un-needed though it was – for the path she wished to tread. He tugged at her hand.

"Come." He said the word very gently. He turned away from the promontory, and made their way up the great steps.

Finally they walked slowly into the great hall, within she saw Aragorn, who was standing next to Arwen, and was speaking to her parents who sat a long table to the side of the hall. They looked grave but shocked. Nearby, but not at the table stood Galadriel and Celeborn, and between them, seated on a chair which looked almost like a throne, and looking uneasy was Haldir, his face stern. And then she saw another figure, one who sat at the table as well, in a grey cloak with his back to her. He turned his head, and slowly stood, at first it seemed an older person, so gentle and slow were the movements. And then she saw his face, her heart leapt in her chest, it was Anádor! She walked quickly to him, he lowered the dark cowl and spread his arms to welcome her.

Gingerly she hugged him, he felt slimmer than she remembered, and smaller, but it was her brother! She couldn't speak as she drew back, looking into his pale face, it was hollow but strong. His gaze was steady and sure. He was weakened certainly, but he was well! As she began to cry he did as well, almost silent tears coursing down their cheeks they embraced again. He whispered little words of comfort and stroked her hair.

"I am so happy for you sister." The words were quietly said and for a moment they startled her, what did he mean? She pulled back to look at his face. He brushed away her tears and took her hands, leading her away from the table, to where Haldir had now stood, there was a look of fierce triumph on Haldir's strong face, his own eyes were brimming with tears. She felt her brother place her hand in the Elven Captain's and for a moment she looked down staring at their hands, his holding hers, large and strong around her smaller fingers, dark silver robes against the pale silver of her sleeves. She looked up, it was though she stood by a great waterfall, there was such a roaring in her ears. All she could do was stand and look up at him.

She felt herself smile, she looked back, Aragorn and Arwen were standing beside her parents, her mother was smiling and while her father looked troubled when she looked to him a brief, but grim, smile passed over his worn features. Galadriel and Celeborn were smiling as well, their faces seeming to shine, and when she looked up at him it seemed to her that Haldir as well was luminous.

"Melamin." He said softly, and pressed her hand to his lips. She ignored his propriety, and threw her free arm around his neck, he caught her gently. Holding her close, a kiss to her dark hair and another to her cheek as he held her as close as he could in his strong arms, as though he might never let her go. Anária felt as though the whole world had changed, this was too soon, too quick, her emotions could not catch up to how she felt, tears and laughter and soft cries escaped her all at once it seemed. And she wished that everyone could feel the same fierce joy that she did in that moment.

* * *

Few there were who stood in that quiet glen in Ithillien just a few short days later. The King's of Gondor and Rohan, the Elves of Mirkwood, Imladris and Lothlorien, the Prince of Dol Amroth and the family of Anária. Haldir stood silently, beside him Oróphin and Anádor stood quietly, all three in palest silver with bright silver circlets, Haldir's was a half circle of mellorn leaves which crossed the back of his head, a single white diamond in the centre of the back, and at the front a simple line of silver passed over his brow; it was not his but Lord Celeborn's wreath, though it suited Lord Celeborn's kinsman just as well.

The ladies of Imladris began to sing, a gentle hymn they had sung just a week earlier when Arwen became Aragorn's Queen. Haldir turned his head, between green trees a small procession came. Queen Arwen and Lady Eowyn were dressed in pale yellows and from somewhere, Galadriel he suspected, they had gotten yellow elanor for wreaths upon their brows. Then came Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, as knights of Gondor and Rohan, one carried a black cushion upon which sat small two circles of white gold. The other, Meriadoc, carried Anária's sword in its scabbard. He saw the younger one, Pippin give a roguish wink to the other two hobbits who stood with Aragorn and the rest of their company.

But Haldir's thoughts were distracted as Arwen came to stand opposite him, for the choirs song had changed, and here she came.

Anária walked slowly with her father, who was still dressed in a stern sort of grey, his face sad but resigned.

But Haldir had no eyes for him. His eyes were caught by his betrothed. She wore a gown of palest silver, and upon her brow was set a circlet of mithril, a wreath of niphredel set with sparkling gems and with a small bouquet of real Niphredel in her hands.

Haldir never did remember any of the words Galadriel spoke as she united them in the pale glen. Nor any that were said after, he remembered slipping the white gold ring onto his betrothed's hand, and her small fingers shaking as she slipped a ring upon his. He remembered the touch of her fingers and a strange, fierce joy which filled up all his senses.

The sadness of the War was not gone from him, nor did her forget all they had lost. But in that moment everything before, and everything to come were but a distant shadow. All that was real was everything he was holding in his arms...


	14. Epilogue: The Starless Night

Epilogue: The Starless Night of the Children of Númenor

* * *

Synopsis: Anária is a Ranger who has survived Helm's Deep, but now she must continue south, to Gondor and war against Mordor. Sequel to "Daughter of Númenor", set during TTT, ROTK. Haldir/OC

A/N:Well this is the end. So forgive me if I take a moment here to talk about the story. This has taken two years and is 80,000 words long. I am hugely proud of most of what I have written and I am enormously grateful to everyone who has read this story. In time I will be cleaning up this story, tweaking it and fixing mistakes of spelling and grammar.

I want to thank all of you for reading this story, it has been a wonderful process - although a lengthy one. I would like to thank everyone who has left me a review, and I am very very glad that so many people have enjoyed it.

I would also like to ask a favour - to all of those who have put a story alert or a favorite on this story and have not reviewed, I would love to hear from you as well.

Disclaimer: JRR and New Line own all rights, and I am just grateful they created and interpreted this wonderful piece of literature.

There were many sons and daughters of Númenor whose names were writ large in the annals of the time of the war of the Ring, and there were many who served and died whose names and deeds were known only to their kin. The Daughter of Númenor known as the Queen of the Stars to the Rohirrim, and the Lady of the North to folk singers was later called by other names, Lady of Osgilliath and Princess of Gondor and Arnor, and it was she and her Elven Lord who rebuilt the ruined city of starlight, Osgilliath, with its great domes and wide streets littered with parks and fountains rather than rubble. They led the city to its golden age, and restored it to its place as the finest city of Gondor filled with learning and art, poetry and song on every corner and the Justice of the King was held to be truer in the Princess' court than in any others; even Lord Faramir of Ithillien could not command the deep reverence of his people that the Princess held.

When the King had passed from this world the Princess, her fine hair untouched by gray and her face unmarred by the ravages of age, set forth with her elven Lord, her intention never to return, they bid farewell to their children and friends and their city and went into the west, where they went and what they did ever after has never been known. Some say she lay down in a bower woven of flowers in the Elven kingdom of her husband, as eternal companion of her Queen, and that her Lord still guards o'er her and the Queen. Others say that all three departed these lands for another far away.

But that which I know best, and that which I believe is this:

"The Lady of Light, Galadriel herself, laid an enchantment upon the Golden Woods in which they met, and there each year of the outside world was as like to a century to them. And each year, as summer began their children would journey to them, and spend magical years in a land which time forgot. And when their children, and grandchildren and great-grandchildren were grown they told their children that no more would they be given entry to the deep places of the forest, and having thus bidden their beloved family goodbye they went west, to the sea, and there took one of the last ships to ever leave Middle Earth for the magical land of Valinor, where they might heal and rest from their journeys here in this Middle Earth..."

The man finished his story softly, hopeful that his daughter might finally have drifted to sleep, although he knew it was unlikely, Haladriel was as like to fall asleep listening to the tales her father told her as she was to stop asking for them. He looked down and found a pair of serious grey eyes looking up at him. They were the colour of a doves feather, and set beneath of a wealth of silver-white curls. She blinked sleepily, but seemed determined to stay awake.

"And that is the end of the story?" she asked, as always.

"And that is the end of the story." He replied. Gently he lifted her up and set her down upon her bed, his sweet, seven year old daughter immediately began squirming into her sheets, yawning as she went.

"That is my favourite story Papa... Do you think I might ever be able to see the Golden Woods?" his eyes widened. She had never asked that before, usually she seemed content to not ask questions about the stories he told her, or even to expect that the people and places in them were real.

"Why do you ask that?" he asked gently. She was blinking sleepily, her eyelids drooping shut.

"Because it's almost summer Papa, maybe we could go there... Maybe we could see Elves. I would so like to see Elves Papa..." she said sleepily, a little smile on her face, her eyes shut. If they had been open she would have seen the stricken expression of grief on her father's face.

As it was though she did not her eyes already closed ready to see dreams come to life. He left the room, a heavy burden in his heart. It had been just eleven years since his father, a man still in his prime had left his son his lands and gone west, a heartbroken man still grieving the loss of his beloved wife, whose brief span of years could never compare to his own long life. And only a few years before that, when he himself had been just leaving childhood that the dowager Lord and Lady of Isgilliath, Lord Galadhon and Lady Simariel, his grandparents had gone west, seeking after the resting place of his great grandmother in the Golden wood.

Prince Anáthon, Lord of Osgilliath, Prince of Arnor and Gondor, his dark hair cut short and gently curling around his face with its wide blue eyes and even features, remembered the last farewell before that, as always his family had ridden out for their brief summer holiday in wood to the west he barely remembered from those idyllic childhood days. But the things he remembered most of all were the broad shoulders of the blonde haired lord who met them on their arrival each year with welcoming arms, and who had thrown him up onto his shoulders and strode through the wood, talking in his deep, warm voice, about all the sights to be seen from his great shoulders. And then there was her, with her dark hair and gray eyes, both serious in her sorrow and truly joyous in the unstinting love she showed for all her 'dear children' as she called them. That last summer had been filled with tears and lamentations: no more would the children run amongst the Niphredil and Elanor, no more would they gather sweet flowers for their mothers, or be taught to use bows made by elven craftsmen who had long since passed out of the earth.

Prince Anáthon's sad footsteps took him up the stairs to the very highest spire of his palace, and there under stars hidden by grey clouds he looked out at the city of Osgilliath. His beautiful city. The city his ancestors had left to him. Ancestors who he had known, who had walked with him beneath golden leaves that sighed their mourning to the world as they slowly drifted down like a shower of gold upon them. Since that year, almost thirty years ago, none of his family had gone to the Golden Wood in late spring, instead, one by one his grandparents, their brothers and sisters, his father, his father's brothers and sisters, were drifting away. Their eyes, ancient with a knowledge as yet hidden from him would turn away, towards the West, and either by the passage of the years or by tumultuous grief each was pulled away towards the West, seeking after those two figures who until just a bare thirty summers before, had gone West themselves.

And now his precious child, with her fair hair and silver eyes, and ears with tips that pointed just so had cast her eyes to the west, to a Golden Wood where he at her age had felt his great-grandmothers warmth envelop him in a hug for the last time, as her gentle lips kissed his cheek, her tears wetting his hair. He turned away from the stars that burned to the star that was behind him. For there, on the wall was one of his families most precious items, a round shield, black enamel set with a silver star of mithril above a red wave, in a wreath of golden leaves. The star of the west, seven pointed symbol of his house, set in the wreath of leaves that had been the only heraldry Haldir of Lórien ever wanted or needed.

For the first time, in his heart, Anáthon understood his great-grandmother's final words. "I will not see you again, for your steps will not follow after ours to the place where sorrow departs. Oh my sweet one, my mortal child... Not for you, but for your own, your blood, which will ever pass west of you into the twilight while you remain." she had turned away from him then, her grey eyes filled with tears.

Now he knew. He understood what he had not understood before. He had thought that he, the son of a half-elven son of two half-elves, would be the first of the mortal line of Osgilliath, the first to lie in a tomb of stone, rather than a glade of the Golden Wood, or to live on in the light of the Blessed Realm of Valinor. Now he knew better. Only one child so far had his sweet wife, herself a woman of human blood, borne him, and she, his blood, his kin, was more of that which had been before. One day, perhaps sooner than he would have ever dreamt, those grey eyes would become melancholy, and wistful, and would turn ever west, towards the wide and thundering sea.

And there, far above his city the Prince buried his face in his hands and wept bitter tears, cursing for the first time in his life, the love and choices of his kin who had left him here to dwell in this Middle Earth without their light and love. It would be him, and those who followed in his mortal footsteps who would be doomed to walk amongst and love those who saw what they could not, they would not see the lights of Valinor, nor truly know the song of the stars in the night sky.

They would never dream, as his sweet child dreamt, of a light filled land where the sun turned the western sea red beneath the silver light of the evening star.

* * *

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